


Lithasblot and Old Lace

by BonGarland



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Crime solving duo, F/M, Loki reluctantly accepts mortal assistance, Mystery, Tasertricks saving the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 89,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonGarland/pseuds/BonGarland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is invited to a days-long Asgardian festival, at which important inter-realm negotiations are to take place, with Jane Foster's household as guests of honor. That includes Darcy Lewis. But when an assassination attempt leaves no one safe from suspicion, it's up to an unlikely collaboration to illuminate a grave threat at hand. Post-TDW serial. Dec 2014 UPDATE: Sequel in the works, titled In the Absence of Belief, He Plays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, my latest Tasertricks extravaganza. This will also be a serial, but albeit at a much more sedate pace. It'll be a mystery once we get going, and suggestions are always welcome via reviews. I've been reading up heavily on the mythology, and a bunch of it may make appearances. That being said, I've taken some liberties with a few realms, and the, uh, terminology for their citizens and such.
> 
> Enjoy.

Darcy was just turning from the espresso machine, a lovingly-handcrafted, foamy cappuccino nursed in both hands, when the burst of rainbow light flooded through the windows of the London condo she was sharing with Jane. And Intern Ian. And the often-pantsless Erik Selvig. And, now, Thor.

It was super cramped, and she coveted these quiet moments of solitude like no other time, often abandoning her studies to enjoy a nice mug of coffee or tea by herself, reading out on the patio.

As luck would have it, this particular day was marked by a torrential downpour that had driven her inside, just before the patio was used as a landing pad for the extraterrestrial form of a subway. She was far too busy dropping her caffeinated confection to be relieved she wasn't squished like a bug, far too busy gaping in slack-jawed amazement at the pair of assumedly-Asgardian warriors who were attempting to fit through the patio door simultaneously.

A broken mug, steaming mess on the floor, and shattered doorframe later, Volstagg and Fandral were in the condo's living room.

"That door was locked," Darcy muttered, oblivious to the fact that whipped cream and caramel syrup were covering her new leather boots, and that hot vanilla cappuccino was now nourishing the linoleum.

"Ah, perhaps that was the difficulty, Fandral! We certainly fit two abreast in the corridors of Asgard!" Volstagg exclaimed. "Greetings, Lady Darcy!" He immediately lunged towards her for a bone-crushing hug before he started to poke around in the living room, lifting a vase and nearly stopping Darcy's heart when it slipped in his grip. He easily caught it up again with a booming laugh, unaware of her alarm.

"No one fits two abreast accompanying you anywhere, my friend," Fandral muttered with a grin in Darcy's direction, stopping her heart all over again. "Hello, my good Lady Darcy!" Blushing, she accepted his very touchy-feely hug, pulling away only to spot the wreckage of her drink on the floor. With a squeal, she grabbed a dishtowel, swiping at the shards of her mug and trying to mop up the coffee at the same time. She was flashing back to New Mexico already. Why did so many mugs break around Asgardians?

"So, uh, what brings you guys here?" She managed as she worked, popping her head up over the kitchen table to see what they were doing. Volstagg had found the cookie jar and was working his way through a stack of oatmeal raisins, which was perfectly fine with Darcy; it was her least favorite flavor. Fandral had sedately leaned himself against the edge of the wall dividing the kitchen from living room. Somehow their costumes - er, wardrobes - looked less ridiculous. Maybe it was the context, being in the land of Shakespeare or something.

"We have come to invite Thor to Lithasblot!" Volstagg boomed, through a mouthful of cookie, half of which crumbled to fall straight into his vast beard.

All Darcy heard was "We hff cmm Tor Lifflesboat!" Arching a brow as she rose from her crouched cleaning position, she aimed it at Fandral, who gave another award-winning smile that had, she was sure, lured many a maiden to his chambers.

"It is our harvest festival, held annually in celebration of a bountiful season, and also in support of the magic that helps maintain our realm," the dashing warrior explained, a hand on the scabbard at his belt as he explained. One of the sexiest explanations ever, Darcy thought idly. "It is a favorite time of Thor's, and we thought perhaps he might be persuaded to attend; Asgard has not had his company in so long…"

Indeed, it had been months and months since Jane had returned, Thor soon joining her, since Darcy's living quarters had become a jar of sardines. This could be a chance to get both of them out of the house to do their extremely-loud canoodling, Darcy thought.

"When is the lifeboat festival?" She asked, and the two warriors laughed at her terminology.

"Lithasblot," Fandral corrected kindly, "is in two days' time, at the end of…Jewel-eye, I believe, for Midgard?" It was Darcy's turn to chuckle at pronunciation, retrieving her phone and shooting Jane a text to come home immediately and bring her seven-foot tall golden retriever. An answering text said they'd be there within ten minutes, and Darcy relaxed back against the counter, folding her arms and content to wait.

"So there's, what, singing, dancing, a ton of mead, a goat sacrifice at the end or something?" She asked, genuinely curious and slightly interested in attending, herself. A vacation couldn't get more exotic, at least distance-wise.

"Ah, or something," Volstagg replied slyly, jabbing an elbow in Fandral's direction, who bowed. "Of course you must attend as well, Lady Darcy, for we could not possibly describe the festival in its entire glory to you!"

Darcy cocked her head to the side, thinking it was about time she got a reprieve. Jane had been working nonstop all summer, trying to grasp how the convergence worked, and if it could be either imitated or prevented, Darcy was never sure which. She just scribbled numbers down, only to type them into the computer, print them, and then have that piece of paper have even more number scribbled upon it. Her life was a hard one, and she wasn't paid for any of it, except in the golden currency of "experience". Time off paid in enjoyment would be nice…

And she doubted there was a ticket booth to Asgard; free food, free booze, probably some free awesome dresses to prance around in, and if everyone looked like Fandral and Thor…Count her in.

Jane and Thor chose that moment to return, Thor thundering out a greeting from the foyer to which Darcy responded "In the kitchen!" When the pair entered, Jane paused, Thor nearly bowling her over at her abrupt stop. He was then distracted by the sight of two of his best companions.

"Volstagg! Fandral!" He cried, catching up both somehow in an elaborate three-way hug that still managed to look very manly. That was Thor to a tee, his actions that were often reminiscent of a puppy looking completely suave when it was a six-foot-plus tall thunder god doing it.

When the three had extracted themselves from the embrace and only broken one chair, Darcy clapped her hands, bouncing on her feet as she looked to Jane. "We're invited to a two-day long party!"

Jane arched a brow, looking to their Asgardian guests for explanation, which Volstagg jovially supplied. The astrophysicist was shaking her head by his fifth syllable, causing Darcy to bound to her side, latching both hands onto Jane's folded forearm. "C'mon boss lady, you can make science when we get back! Isn't there some Asgardian constellation you wanna document, or, or something…"

Darcy raised her brows at Thor, who jumped in. "Jane, I think it would do you good to visit Asgard on a trip of leisure. The festival is always enjoyable, and perhaps you could consult my father's library more when we are there." At the mention of books and research, Darcy could have sworn she saw Jane's ears perk up.

"I suppose, if it's only a few days…" Jane mumbled, biting her lip as she unfolded her arms to brace them against the chair in front of her. She was silent for a moment, then looked up. "I don't see why we can't have a bit of fun." Darcy shrieked in excitement, hugging Jane, then Thor, then managed a sandwiching hug with both Volstagg and Fandral from which she may have escaped with only two broken ribs.

"Come pack with me!" Darcy squealed at Jane, tugging the reluctant scientist into Darcy's cramped room and shutting the door. Jane perched herself on the edge of Darcy's bed, eyes wide as her intern and friend started pulling clothes out of her wardrobe and flinging them on the bed.

"What does one bring to a hip cosmic pagan party?" Darcy wondered aloud, coming to a stop as she surveyed her closet, a hand on her hip.

Jane shrugged. "I hardly had time to plan my wardrobe when I went, but I do know this: anything we bring will be insufficient and inappropriate, Darce. I gathered that much." She rolled her eyes at the end, muttering something about goats and banquets that Darcy couldn't quite catch.

"'Kay, well, I'm gonna go with hooker couture then," the intern declared with a grin, snatching up some heeled boots and skinny jeans and tossing them on top of the bed's other contents. "Rattle their boots a bit." Jane dodged a hurled scarf, grimacing. "Now I'm not so sure about going…" She cut off as Darcy whirled around, shaking a finger in her face. "Jane Elizabeth Foster, if you even mention me not going again, so help me, you will incur the Wrath of the Intern." With that, she turned back to her dresser, rifling through her bras.

"Push-up or…" she muttered, and Jane chose to escape the room, favoring the destructive Asgardians over Darcy on a packing high.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Asgard, tensions were running high in the Council Chambers. Envoys from Vanaheim, Muspelheim, and even Jötunheim were in attendance, courtesy of a formal invitation from Odin to attend this year's Lithasblot festivities.

The Allfather was in a particularly good mood, it seemed to his advisors, grinning widely as he surveyed the ambassadors crowding the room. No one else shared his enthusiasm; the Muspels had declared they would not stand or sit within ten paces of the Jotuns, who glared at the Vanites in turn, and Asgardians were strewn between each clan with no small amount of anxiety in their visages.

"Enough!" Odin called with a boom of his staff against the flagstone flooring, calling the meeting to order. Finally, the bickering and curses quieted, and eyes turned to the Allfather.

"I have called you all here under the banner of peace, with the hope that we may negotiate anew for harmony amongst our realms. Though we are at peace, we are very much separate, and that distresses me. Even as we celebrate a bountiful harvest due to Urda's graces, I wish to introduce new regulations for commerce between our realms. In two days' time, there shall be a grand feast, and I bid you all remain here in Asgard to enjoy the fruits of our year's labor. In the meantime, let us discuss business." A gloved hand gestured to his right, to his first advisor, who opened the discussions with concerns about skirmishes in the wilds of Vanaheim.

The Jötuns were restless, suspicious glances shooting up and down the council table throughout the meeting. Odin smiled at that, curious where their doubts would lead them.

Hours later, the meeting was adjourned until the following day, while contracts could be drawn up for further debate and, hopefully, signing after the festival.

Odin retired to his chambers for the night, waving off his servants as he banged his staff against the floor to close the heavy double doors to his room. Nothing happened, and he sniffed, annoyed, sending the staff thudding against the floor once more, and the doors cooperated, banging closed with force that rattled artwork on the walls closest to them.

A single eye scowled in displeasure at the disobedience of Gungnir, and as "Odin" turned towards the double doors leading to the balcony, the illusion fluidly dissolved. Gone was the eye patch as golden armor darkened to bronze, silver robes' woven fabric turned to black and leather, and the staff was hurled aside, its bearer snuffing out all lights in the room with a flick of his wrist. The double doors opened with a phantom breeze as Asgard's king slipped out onto the balcony, cloaked in the soothing darkness of night as he sorted his thoughts.

It was a daring move indeed, bringing potentially-hostile beings into his very council chambers, and then letting them roam loose as "honored guests", but it there was strategy among the madness. Loki was completely convinced the Lithasblot celebrations would go off with quite a hitch, and he couldn't wait. All that would remain was armoring up for the war that would inevitably follow. He would revitalize the Allfather's wartime prowess, make all other realms cower again before Asgard's might. The Aesir had grown far too lazy.

A rapping at his chamber doors startled Loki from his reverie, and he turned with a frown, flicking his fingers over his throat before Odin's gruff tones escaped his lips. "What is it?"

"Allfather, we have received confirmation that Thor will indeed be attending the festivities." A guard spoke hesitantly through the door, though they had been told to notify him as soon as the thunder god accepted the invitation of his friends.

Loki smiled. It had really been his invitation, his suggestion in the banquet hall one night that Volstagg and Fandral slip off to invite the buffoon to Lithasblot. It had been months since Odin's reluctant abdication of the throne had taken placed, and the trickster was now secure in his rule. No one was the wiser, and Thor would not be either. The mortal he paraded around amused Loki, and he'd like to see how she interacted with the Allfather. Having the hammer-happy idiot around for backup was not a poor idea, either, if these precarious negotiations did not go as planned.

"Also, I am to notify you that he is bringing several...guests." Loki could hear the wince in the guard's voice towards the end, at the potentially-unwanted changes made to the invitation, but he merely smiled.

"Very well. Dismissed." Odin's voice sent the guard away, and Loki retrieved his own voice, turning back to the balcony's view and sighing contentedly into the wind. All was going as planned so far.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Floored at the response to this already. You're all amazing.
> 
> So, there's a fair amount of setting-up needed for what I wanna do here, bear with me please.
> 
> I have this hilarious joke with myself where I call Loki as Odin "Faux-din" and so as I write this, it's just reverberating in my mind...Anyone else do that? Just me?
> 
> Had to humor my Loki-Frigga-feels, too. Here we go.

The former queen of Asgard's chambers had lain dormant and dusty for weeks, the only things missing those vital items needed for the funeral processions. Loki chose a mid-morning to enter, free of the illusion masking him as Odin, who had taken the rest of the day off and retired to his bed.

The Allfather's fatigue, while an illusion of sorts, was not a complete falsehood, which was a rarity for Loki – the burden of the throne was indeed a great one, and in the back of his mind, a tiny voice often whispered that he had bitten off far more than he could chew. But this was far different from a planet of imbecilic mortals - this mouthful could not just be spit out again.

Loki was not prepared for the effect this area of the palace would have on him; it was overwhelming to his senses, physically and emotionally. The rooms still smelled like Frigga's perfume, a concoction of her own making, based with rose oil from her garden, still lovingly maintained by a faithful servant. A wind chime she'd been fond of still swung out on the balcony to her dressing room, its lyrical chiming reaching him even past shuttered windows and doors. A chaise lounge he'd often curled up on, perusing magical tomes, was still leaned against the far wall, next to a shelf of said tomes. Her vanity table still displayed an array of pristine brushes and combs that she'd had since he was small. The sight of her favorite brush, which she'd draw through her hair while giving him magical tips, stopped him as he reached the center of the room, his blood both chilling with guilt and warming at the memories that surfaced.

His mother was still very much alive, at least within these walls. He half-expected her to sweep in at any moment, chiding him for not coming to see her more often. Now he was glad of the decree he'd issued months ago, that her rooms not be touched, though he had been loath to enter himself, until now.

He could not think on the approaching holiday without thinking of Frigga; Lithasblot was as much a celebration of the magic in the kingdom as it was a rejoicing for a successful harvest year, and it had always been a special time for Loki and his mother to bond on their own. Thor would plead boredom and while away the hours between feasts in the training courtyard, Odin often watching over the blonde god's progress, but Loki would race to his mother's rooms, eager to learn. Frigga had always upheld a promise to teach him a new spell herself each year at Lithasblot, even if she were ill, or an important delegation were in Asgard for meetings. And now, he felt an obligation to acknowledge her, in the only way he could, for there was no grave to visit, no tomb to adorn with fresh flowers or tokens.

A hand scrubbing over his face, Loki tiredly slumped onto the bench at his mother's vanity table. Idly, he straightened a bronze set of combs, before casting a brief glance at his reflection in the large mirror. The room was barely illuminated, only by a sole sconce on the wall he'd lit upon entering, but he dimly noted his face was even paler than usual, and his hair growing over-long. She'd have scolded him to get a trim, but it wasn't as though anyone saw him besides himself, these days. After all, he was dead too, wasn't he?

After twenty minutes of morbid existential contemplation, he rose, leaving behind Frigga's dressing table as he moved to a heavy curtain that separated the boudoir from a passage leading to Frigga's receiving chamber. The room where she'd died, because of him. He could blame Thor, blame Odin, blame bloody Jane Foster for stumbling across the Aether, but as he descended the stone steps into the spacious area, it only felt right to claim the fault as his own, for once. His childish need to cause a bit of trouble for Volstagg and Fandral, who had been on prisoner duty so often back then, had backfired in the worst possible way, and he could not undo that trickery with a bit more, as usual.

Rounding the large scrying pool, his booted footfalls resounding on the stone floor, Loki's eyes fell upon the spot where Frigga had fallen. The stone was still marked with his mother's blood. No scrubbing had been able to get it out, an everlasting testament to his grievous mistake. A fist clenched at his side, leather creaking with the strain.

Suddenly, a prickling at the edge of his senses alerted him to someone stepping within the bounds of the ward around Odin's chambers. He nodded at the room, but out of respect, farewell, or as an indication he would return, Loki did not know. He simply blinked from the room with a waved hand and a glimmer of green light, ready to berate whoever dared disturb the Allfather.

He arrived in Odin's quarters just in time to plaster the old man's visage across his own, and swing open the doors with a frown. "Yes?"

"Allfather, Thor and his guests have arrived."

The oaf was early, for one of the first times in his long life. Damn.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her suitcase was packed, her purse was loaded with comfort foods in case roasted boar with the fur and tusks intact didn't sit well with her stomach, and her foot was jiggling as Darcy perched on the edge of the couch, waiting for Jane and Thor. It was early morning, the day after the Asgardian invitational duo had arrived, Jane insisting she needed time to get her affairs in order. And so the cramped condo had become even more so, Volstagg having commandeered a couch all to himself, and Fandral banished to an armchair, insinuating all the while that he'd share her bed at the slightest invitation. Darcy had never known this before, but one could overdose on being flirted with. He was incorrigible, and she had no doubt if she'd been a cardboard cutout he'd have behaved the same way.

She'd actually opted for a more demure look for the trip, tight black jeans paired with black boots, and a deep blue cardigan that flattered her eyes, over a white tank. But despite her dramatics and wardrobe indecision, Darcy was the first one packed and ready, and she was currently engaged in a staring contest with Volstagg. He was seated on the couch across from hers, plowing through a gallon of milk in one continuous swig, eyes still managing to crinkle in a grin at her as he chugged.

Jane had opened the fridge and welcomed Volstagg to it with a flourish earlier, seeing as everything inside would probably expire before they were back. The condo would be completely empty, since Ian and Erik had been recruited to join them, when they'd returned from the pharmacy, prescriptions for Erik freshly refilled. The older man had taken a lot of convincing on Jane and Darcy's parts; probably one hundred assurances that Loki was dead later, and after fifty declarations that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Erik had agreed to come. If he could bring medications, which Ian had been charged with stuffing into a suitcase all their own. He'd finally done it, and was in the kitchen, under orders to finish cleaning any dishes before they left.

The kid really deserved a paycheck, but, hell, if Darcy still didn't get one after nearly becoming fried chicken on one occasion and elf-fodder on another, he didn't either.

It had been awkward, to put it lightly, since the showdown with Malekith, and Darcy generally avoided being alone in the same room as the British intern. Kissing someone out of gratitude stemming from facing death right in the chops did not count as an investment in a serious relationship, or so she maintained. Even if she'd done it a couple of times. Besides, she wanted to keep her options open; she was in London, for goodness' sake, and posher accents than his were bountiful everywhere she looked. She was a sucker for an accent.

Like Fandral's, who was now reclined gracefully in his armchair, head propped on a gauntleted hand, perusing VH1. He'd taken a liking to Kim Kardashian that Darcy was certain wasn't healthy, and she made a note to put some sort of Asgardian-child-block-thing on the channels when she could. Thor tended to stick to the food network, or the soap opera channel. The otherworldly swashbuckler had not relinquished the remote control since she'd proffered it an hour before, apologizing that there was no one to spar with or whatever he usually did for fun. That had earned a lascivious wink and chuckle, and an assurance he would pull her into the arena on Asgard. Then he'd promptly taken the remote, and the term ogling to new levels. The armchair was about five inches from the tv screen, now, as a fashion critic helpfully zoomed in on a picture of the Kardashian, shouting to the heavens that a certain pattern belonged on wallpaper and nothing else.

Volstagg finished the gallon of milk with a loud belch, and the plastic jug ended up on the floor, of course, but capped. And it couldn't shatter, so that was a plus.

Finally, Jane and Thor emerged from their shared bedroom, the Asgardian already back in his traditional armor, and Mjölnir in hand for probably the first time in six months. Jane had the typical traveler's stress etched all across her face, muttering about sunglasses as she started to scour the room, throwing cushions in every direction until Darcy helpfully pointed out the lenses in questions were already on her, pushed into her hairline. The astrophysicist had scowled, heaving a sigh and pulling a list out of her pocket to cross something off of it.

Erik Selvig meekly entered the room behind them, thankfully wearing pants, but looking distinctly unhappy and squinting at a label on a bottle he held. Though he'd tossed out all his medications during the Convergence, the thrill of having ended Malekith apparently wasn't enough to keep him off the things, and he now had a stamp card for the local pharmacy. A stamp card. For a pharmacy. Darcy was sure the fact that those were offered spoke volumes about London.

Darcy hopped up from her perch, moving to snatch the list from Jane and peruse it with brows furrowed. "Sunblock? Jane, I really don't think you- batteries? Really? No, nope. They probably don't even have power outlets. D'you have power outlets?" The question was aimed at Volstagg, who shrugged. Answer enough. The intern promptly tore the list into several pieces, shaking a finger at Jane. "You've got all you need! Lezgo lezgo!" Thor piped in with the assurance that three suitcases would likely suffice, and Jane nodded with another sigh.

It took some wrestling, and, on Fandral's part, groping, but Darcy managed to get the remote from him and turn the television off, and snatch a package of Oreos from Volstagg. She was certain there hadn't even been Oreos in the house in the first place.

At last they were all ready, and after some skeptical evaluations of the patio outside, it was deemed the space could last another Bifrost episode. Ian was literally quaking in his boots, staring at the intricate signature of the bifrost burned into their porch, while Jane was muttering darkly about the security deposit on the condo. Darcy nudged Ian, and he met her eyes reluctantly. "Intern, just think of it as a space train."

"A…Space train?" He repeated blankly, elbowing Selvig next to him. "Is it just a space train?" Erik just snorted, pulling out a vial of some cloudy liquid and taking a swig.

The intern raised the suitcase he held higher, cradling it to his chest as if it would protect him, and they all stepped onto the impromptu landing pad. Darcy was nearly hopping in place, she was so excited, and it took a gentle chiding from Volstagg to keep her still, warning her that moving could end up with half her body in Nifelheim or something.

That had stilled her. Thor, in a moment of adorable sheepishness, had then hesitantly called out for Heimdall to do his thing whenever he was ready. Darcy supposed he was out of practice with inter-realm traveling, but her thoughts were cut short when a brilliant tunnel of light shot down towards them. It engulfed the group with a blinding whiteness interlaced with all colors of the rainbow. There was a sucking sensation, like she was a grain of dirt being borne down upon by a vacuum, and then there was nothing under her feet.

Darcy wouldn't admit it later, but she may have screamed on the Bifrost, despite her bravado. Might have, just a bit. But it was definitely the vacuum of air that had dried out her throat and rendered her hoarse for the twenty minutes after landing, most definitely.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Landing was not as kind as "takeoff" had been; it felt like she'd been shoved out of an elevator that was stuck halfway between floors, and there was a long drop and sudden stop. She found herself kneeling clumsily, a golden boot in front of her face. She followed it upwards, her eyes met with only more golden armor, before they reached a dark face, out of which glowed brilliant amber eyes. This must be Heimdall.

"Hi there!" Darcy croaked, pretending she had not been dropped unceremoniously on the ground before this man, subtly brushing at the knees of her jeans as she rose. He courteously pretended not to notice, intoning a greeting in a soothing baritone. Looking around, she spotted the others, with the exception of the Asgardians and Thor, all in relatively similar disarray. Erik was picking up pill bottles that had fallen from his pocket, and Ian stood rubbing at his side, having fallen on top of his suitcase and completely winding himself.

Jane was already stumbling across the observatory, craning to see past the golden rafters and further into the cosmos. How typical. All she was missing were some binoculars, and a sign around her neck saying "TOURIST". She had the sunglasses, though, and Darcy grinned, before turning towards what seemed like the exit of the place.

She pointed both hands towards it. "Do we just…?" Fandral nodded with a smile, striding grandly past, her suitcases in tow. She could not complain about her self-assigned valet, for sure. Waving goodbye to Heimdall, who inclined his head graciously, Darcy pivoted on the spot, leaving the other Midgardians behind in her excitement and trying hard not to skip with joy as she set foot on the rainbow bridge for the first time.

There were horses waiting for them, shiny-coated things all lined up in a row. Darcy wasn't exactly sure how to ride, but she'd seen some stuff on Youtube…Still, she held back as Thor chose and mounted a horse easily, pulling Jane up in front of him, and even Erik and Ian mounted up, leaving Darcy clicking her tongue in contemplation of the one horse now remaining.

It was a tall, brown beast, with nice shiny golden reins that somehow were not enticing to climb up and grab, as it was shifting back and forth on its legs as if antsy. It took one of the guards who'd originally brought the horses, at Heimdall's request, to lift her up and into the saddle, by which time Darcy's eyes were squinted nearly shut in an extended wince. The bridge looked super long, like it would take a super long ride to get to the end of it and how was she going to stay on a magical alien horse that long-

And then they were off, Fandral and Volstagg's horses leading the way and somehow cueing hers to move. All of the luggage had vanished, and Darcy had no clue what that was about, but she was clinging to anything buckled to the horse that she could find. Thor and Jane rode abreast of her, Jane smirking at Darcy's death grip on the horse, but Thor looked pensive, eyeing Darcy's mount.

"What is it?" Darcy managed, over the pounding of hooves on the bridge.

"I recognize that horse," Thor explained, sadness pervading his loud tones. "The beast was a favorite of my brother's. Picky when it came to riders, I recall."

The intern's nose scrunched up as she looked from Thor to the horse and back again. "This is…Loki's horse?" Thor just shrugged, urging on his own horse. Darcy's gaze swiveled back to the dark mane in front of her. "Yikes." She wasn't sure how to feel about riding the mount of choice of a psycho mass-murderer.

But she wasn't thrown from her seat, nor did the horse do anything remotely threatening on the ride across the bridge and to the palace. Its gait was smooth and soothing, in fact, and she could kind of understand a preference. When she dismounted, Darcy was actually strangely comfortable with the horse, even straining to reach its nose to give it a pat before the guards led it off again. Only then did the horse start to prance nervously from side to side, trying to shrug off the guidance of the guard holding its reins.

Darcy nearly tripped over her own feet, craning to admire the ivy-covered archway they entered the palace. It was amazing, everything gilded in gold and sunlight and coolness. Fumbling in the pockets of her coat, she was dismayed to find she'd stuck her phone and camera in her luggage. Then again, Asgard could be like ghosts and paranormal things – maybe it would show up all wonky on film. She'd have to test that out.

Noticing a side archway, Darcy stepped towards it, spotting a lush, green garden beyond it. But a pair of guards hastily barred her way, complete with crossed spears, explaining it was the Queen's private gardens, and none were allowed in unless by express command of the Allfather. Bummed, Darcy frowned, but turned away to scamper after Jane and Thor, wondering how she could get the old stickler to sign a permission slip for her.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The throne hall was a masterpiece in itself, marble pillars casting impressive shadows that lent an intimidating air to the chambers, which culminated in a tall set of steps leading to the dais. The throne itself looked like the average throne Darcy had seen in period pieces on tv – a little more spacious, perhaps, but basically a big chair with sturdy armrests. It was currently occupied, but she couldn't make out any details of the king's form, until they'd traversed the massive breadth of the room as a group.

Up close, she wasn't sure what to make of Odin. Or at least, as close as the peasants got; the steps leading to him seemed to go on forever, a distinct separation between king and denizen. Of course. The royal dude himself looked like any old, grizzled man she'd pass by on the streets, but her eyes flicked uncomfortably over the golden eye patch welded together with his helmet. Somehow, she felt there were still two eyes looking at her, and it was a creepy feeling.

Odin was dressed in fancy robes and a heavy fur mantle over them, an impressive scepter clenched in one hand. He, however, looked anything but impressed at their arrival. "My son," he acknowledged, voice quiet but somehow loud at the same time, nodding at Thor and apparently oblivious to the fact anyone else was there. Behind Darcy, Volstagg and Fandral had retreated to stand respectfully at the sidelines.

"Father," Thor returned, kneeling on one knee at the base of the steps. Darcy glanced around furtively, noticing everyone else awkwardly imitating him.

"Darcy." Jane hissed from her crouched position.

Darcy turned her head, looking down at her friend. "What? He's not my king," she hissed back, still standing. Jane could defer to the cranky old otherworldly dude all she wanted, but Darcy didn't see the need to swear fealty when she was here for two days of partying and that was it. Jane blanched, looking at something behind Darcy and straight back down again, and the intern froze as something prickled at the back of her neck.

Inching her head up and back to the front of the throne room, Darcy drew in a deep breath as she noticed Odin's eyes on her. She did look really painfully obvious, standing while the rest knelt. Why were they kneeling so long? Why was this a big deal? Was she gonna get her head chopped off before she'd had her first swig of Asgardian mead? Was she protected under the flag of ambassadorial immunity?

No one's eyes were on the Allfather except her, and so no one but her saw the creepy half-smirk he gave, in approval of her lack of kneeling or something, it seemed. It lasted less than a second, and then he was barking for them to rise. He said something else, gave some supercilious speech of greeting, and then they were dismissed. It took Jane jabbing Darcy with an elbow to get her moving, lost in her thoughts as she was. That grin was eerily familiar, she recognized it, but she'd never met Odin. She was probably in dire need of some sleep, that was all, she thought, blinking furiously and turning to follow Jane out of the throne room. Just before she exited, she tossed a glance back over her shoulder. Odin was gone from the throne, but she still felt watched.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Life is crazy, apologies for late (in my mind at least) chapter. The plot thickens, though. Ish. Also, I love animals so apparently this is going to be a thing, Darcy bonding with anything and everything feathered, furred, or otherwise wild.
> 
> Could everyone maybe cross their fingers I land comic con tickets this Saturday, pleaseee?
> 
> Also, really appreciate all the reviews. I take them all into consideration for later chapters. Someone suggested Darcy'd be the first to learn who "Odin" is - I think you'll find I'm trying to skirt around quite a predictable development like that, in a weird way. 
> 
> I think I'm getting decent at posting simultaneously to both FFN and AO3, also.
> 
> Onward.

Morosely munching a granola bar, Darcy was staring out the ornate archway that passed as a windowsill on Asgard. The room she was sharing with Jane was richly furnished, the silver drapes alone looking like they'd cost the same as the condo's rent, but Darcy had barely noticed so far. She was annoyed with herself that she still felt so bothered by the reception with Odin, and it wasn't making her great company. That was likely why Jane had basically ordered her to take a nap, while she and her seven-foot hunk of arm candy strolled across the palace grounds romantically or something. In any case, she hadn't seen her boss in over an hour.

Crunching the last mouthful of her bar, since she was wary of the silver platter of fruit on a side table, at least until Jane tried a piece, she looked around for a trashcan. Seeing none, she tiptoed over to the nightstand, furtively shoving the crackling wrapper into its depths, and turning just in time to see Ian move into the doorway.

"Darcy," he was mumbling, eyes on the camera he was flipping in his hands, "I think your camera ended up in my luggage."

"That doesn't make sense, Intern, I zippered it into the front compartment of my suitcase myself," Darcy returned, brows crinkling as she moved to take the offending device from him. Maybe the idiot just wanted an excuse to catch her alone and give the fancy beds a go or something. Ew. "It was like, in in your suitcase?" She asked, examining her camera.

Ian nodded and shrugged, thankfully already pivoting to head back to his own chambers, a little ways down the hall. "Technology can be mischievous!" He waved a hand back at her and grabbed a shiny pear as he passed the table by the doorway. Darcy's head shot up at his wording, a frown flicking across her face. She had no time to contemplate the thought hanging at the edge of her mind, though, because Sif appeared to re-fill the doorway, looking less than pleased she was charged with errand duty.

"Mort- Lady Darcy, you're to come with me for a tour of the palace," Sif ground out, an outright eye-roll the only thing missing from her reluctance. "That is, if you feel up to it. The Allfather insists you feel at ease in his realm."

Darcy smiled widely, trying to throw off the female warrior. She'd met Sif earlier, one of a stream of hurried introductions that had happened as their little group had meandered through the corridors in search of the guest wing. Darcy's conclusion had been that Sif needed to get laid, or something to stab. Maybe both at the same time? She clearly needed some sort of thing to be doing, but Darcy supposed if she wandered around wearing armor always, she'd want to commit badassery all the time too. "Uh, gimme a second…"

Sif nodded, moving to flatten her back against the corridor just outside the door while Darcy got ready. Shoving the camera inside her now-trash-designated nightstand drawer, Darcy grabbed a light scarf, flinging it around her neck and running a brush through her hair. Then she paused, opting to retrieve the camera and check its power level. It was fully charged, the memory card nearly completely clear, and calling to her to be used. Time to get something to give her the facebook feed of all facebook feeds. Darting out into the hall, she gestured grandly for Sif to lead the way, somehow not expecting any sort of grand historical explanations on this tour.

When the warrior huffed a sigh and heaved herself from the wall, armor glinting and clinking, Darcy was already snapping pictures of the corridor and artwork on the stone walls.

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It had been surprisingly lenient of him, the Allfather, to let a slight to his honor pass, but Loki did not want to press the issue of a single mere mortal disregarding general etiquette, and risk exposing himself. After all, the Muspels and Jötuns did little more than salute or nod casually at him, too, and the girl hardly looked to have ever been in the presence of otherworldly royalty. No, instead he opted to win that round by unsettling the girl, which he could tell had worked, despite his little concession to her bravery. She had looked downright spooked, trailing after the Foster woman as they left the throne room. Fear was always such a delicious achievement.

Having been thoroughly roused from his chambers for the day, Loki decided to wander the palace grounds, finding Sif and Hogun supervising the training of some new guards.

"Sif!" He barked, pleased when the woman turned to him, executing a perfect kneeling salute. "I have a task for you."

"Anything, Allfather," she said, nodding expectantly.

"I need you to give Thor's companions a tour of the palace, so they are aware where their presence is allowed and such," Odin's gravelly tones commanded. "The Foster – Lady Jane will no doubt accompany Thor, but I fear the other may be slightly more independent, the Lady Darcy. The boy may join as well. Please let me know if any of their party have any needs or concerns." The last bit translated to "find a servant". He nodded, swiveling and heading towards greener pastures, the meticulously-groomed hedges of the palace gardens. He felt rather than saw Sif's disappointment, hiding a grin as he swept along.

He'd arranged for all the cursory guest accommodations – they had suites, the finest refreshments Asgard had to offer had already been sent up, and they would be assigned servants hours before the introductory feast tonight. The Lewis woman looked hardly capable of dressing herself even in mortal rags, but she admittedly had assets that, hopefully, some servant would show off to advantage tonight. Anything to disrupt the boredom incurred by attending feasts as royalty…In truth, they'd been much better when he'd been just a disregarded prince, able to come and go as he pleased, with whom he pleased. He cut that thought off as soon as it crossed his mind. He had work to do.

Drawing a breath sharply, Loki forced composure as the sunlit corridor suddenly chilled, signaling the approach of Frost Giants. He was in no mood to banter pleasantly with "royal" dignitaries from that barren land of ice and snow. Darting a glance around and spotting no one, he used speed the true Odin did not possess to flip himself over a nearby railing, concealing himself behind a pillar as a pair of the monsters passed, deep in conversation in their own tongue. While he would never admit it, he felt frustratingly comfortable physically when Frost Giants neared, their cold auras not bothering him in the slightest. This had worked in his favor when he had conspired with Laufey, but now it only served to distance him further from others in Asgard; hallways emptied when the blueish creatures approached, dignitaries and servants alike rubbing their arms and buttoning jackets for warmth as they ducked aside. And his mental approach was an entirely different story; he had to resist the urge to dagger any of the things when they came near him. But diplomacy, he chided himself. Diplomacy.

Letting out a breath and feeling himself visibly relax once they were out of sight, Loki let go of the pillar, dropping down to the ground level of the palace and striding quickly along a garden path. He'd been rattled by one thing after another today, his mother's rooms, the mortal girl's obstinacy, and now, frost giants wandering his halls like they owned the place. It was all part of the plan, but sometimes, even he hated his plans. Case in point, those bloody Chitauri…

A bell clanged somewhere, the sound rolling out across the grounds as it signaled the change of guard for the dungeons. Odin's face grinned at that, knowing he owed a pass through those cellblocks just to make sure all was well. Some night this week, he'd slip down there and see just how well the prisoners of Asgard were faring while celebrations raged above their heads. He owed himself a moment or two of gloating, after all.

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"This is delicious, 'ave you tried one?" Ian spoke through a mouthful of pear as he strode alongside her, and Darcy was just waiting for the moment when a spatter of pear juice ended up on Sif's pristine armor. The British intern of the American intern had joined them moments after Sif had led Darcy down the hall, claiming boredom and that Erik was napping. In truth, the Brit, who was drooling at the warrior marching in front of him whenever his mouth wasn't occupied with the fruit, looked like he'd just come along in hopes of a hands-on tour of Sif. He'd grown far too arrogant since crushing a couple of evil elves with a car, in Darcy's opinion.

"No, because even though pears are my favorite, they appear to be disappearing as fast as the servants refill them!" Her tone was petulant as she shot him a sullen sidelong glance, snapping a random picture of Ian as he mowwed the helpless fruit. He just shrugged, grinning around another bite.

Then again, she'd have preferred a tour by one of the boys, so she couldn't fault Ian too much. As they rounded a corner, she snapped a picture of a statue of some woman clad in long robes. She'd probably never know who was which statue and what Asgardian artist had done each painting, but it was interesting, nevertheless. The woman looked a little familiar, with a long braid and amazingly detailed, determined expression, a sword clenched in her hand. Darcy shrugged, snapping a picture from another angle. The statue was super shiny, as if freshly hewn, and as she skirted around it, she noted an inscription on the base that, disappointingly, she couldn't read. She hurried to catch up with Sif, whose monotone was making it difficult to discern insults from background information of Asgard from weather observations.

They were on the second floor of the palace, as far as she could tell, and as they traversed a bright corridor only half-roofed, she edged towards the side that openly displayed the ground-level. Catching sight of a raven circling lowly, she leaned out, snapping a couple pictures, interested in where the bird was going.

Her grin dropped and she frowned as the bird spiraled out of the camera's view, and she frantically tried to track it with the lens. Finally, its descent halted behind a hedge, and she pouted, disappointed, only for it to reappear on the shoulder of none other than Odin. She froze, hand automatically clenching down on the shutter button, and as if on cue, the king looked up in her direction. Much to her shame, Darcy squeaked in shame, flinging herself back from the railing and smacking straight into Ian, chomping the last bites of his pear.

"See a ghost?" He joked, craning over the stone railing to see what had startled her. "Oy, it's the king again! Do I salute?" He tried a half-hearted tick of the hand at temple level, then shrugged and skittered after Sif, who was glaring at both of them.

"Oh, don't bother, mortal," she snapped, waving a hand airily. "I think the tour is complete, anyways." Then Sif booked it down a side corridor with all the grace bred into her, leaving a wide-eyed Darcy running a hand through her hair and Ian glancing around for another fruit platter.

"Guess it wasn't poisonous?" Darcy finally questioned, raising a brow at Ian, who shook his head, splaying his hands out from his body and waggling them to show he was fine.

"Great. I'm ready for a servant to drop grapes into my mouth, then," Darcy muttered, brushing past him and shoving the camera back into her pocket. Then she stopped, pivoting on her heel and raising a finger in the air. If only those pears were fortune cookies. She'd already taken to calling the place Hogwarts, swearing staircases and things moved. "Where were our rooms again?"

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Loki was deep in thought as he walked to the aviary, stroking the glossy feathers of Muninn, the raven perched upon his shoulder. Huginn, the bird's partner, had not taken well to the game of musical chairs: royalty edition, and stubbornly refused to obey his commands when let loose, and so was kept caged most of the time. Loki had fed Muninn often as a boy, and the omniscient bird's trust was a welcome reimbursement in these times.

Relinquishing the raven to its preferred perch high within the tower that functioned as his private aviary, Loki briefly removed the Odin illusion, inhaling deeply of the fresh mountain air that blew in through the miniature archways serving as windows. A chuckle escaped his lips as he recalled the sight of the mortal, screeching and ducking out of his sight as if she were trying to be obvious. Her antics were just ridiculous enough to provide some meager entertainment, and again, he found himself briefly wondering what she'd appear in tonight. Perhaps the next few days would not be so bad, after all.

A caw above his head sent green eyes upward, only to spot Huginn, making disgruntled noises as his beady eyes locked on Loki. As the staring contest continued, the bird cocked his head, like he was silently judging Loki's thoughts. The trickster soon caved, grimacing at the bird and heading for the door as the appearance of Odin washed back over him.

As soon as his boot crossed the threshold, a scream resounded across the grounds. Lovely. Taking a deep breath and hesitating only long enough to snap his fingers to summon Muninn, who flitted past him in a flurry of ebony wings, he followed the bird as it led him to the source.

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"Here, intern, you look like you could use something to do. Upload all of this." Darcy tossed her camera at Ian, who caught it despite double-fisting two pears, and moved to her suitcase to find something comfortable to change into. While there was no intergalactic Wifi, it seemed, her laptop had battery for the time being, and she could perform basic functions like transferring files and uploading her camera's memory card contents. Naturally, Ian was gonna do it all.

She was down to a black cami and jeans, with her top, socks, and boots now decorating a bronze-gilded chair, when Ian murmured something around a mouthful of pear. "What was that, Intern?"

He managed another snuffling noise, eyes wide as he gestured at the screen in front of him. Darcy whisked her thick hair behind her ears, her brows cinching as she moved to stare at it alongside him.

"What the hell is that? Is my lens smudged? Nothing else looks weird, what-" Darcy huffed, moving the mouse over one of the pictures of Odin. Creepy as he was, Darcy hella wanted a commemorative picture of the dude. The problem was, none of them had turned out. She now had a full photo gallery of Asgard's archways, hallway tapestries, banister carvings, even some funky gargoyle-like carvings that just chilled out at seemingly-random spots on the roofs. However, she swore she'd taken at least three photos of Odin earlier.

But where Odin had stood in the garden was some sort of blurry, dark figure. She was positive he'd had on silvery robes and his whole pale-fabric kingly ensemble, but that was so not what she was seeing right now. Squinting at the picture, she quickly flipped to some others. Sif showed up clearly, so did servants, a couple warriors she'd passed – okay, they all didn't even require an ounce of photoshopping, with perfect figures and complexions – but maybe somehow Odin just…defied the rules of photography.

Ian relinquished his chair to her, sidling over to the newly-replenished fruit platter a servant had brought in a minute ago with a smile and bow. He promptly fumbled through the assortment, coming up with yet another pear.

"You're gonna turn into one," Darcy mumbled, clicking and dragging the mouse all over her screen and then hitting an elaborate combination of keys. "Oh. My God." Literally. She clapped a hand to her cheek, pushing her glasses higher on her nose to make sure she was seeing clearly. She'd zoomed in on the image of Odin, or what she'd thought was him, and tried to clarify the photo, and she was probably imagining all of this, because it sure as hell looked like Loki was standing there. The crazed Norman Bates of the Asgardian royal family looked to be standing on exactly the same spot as Odin. Black armor, black hair, even the bits of bronze on his forearms – whoa, they looked buff and legit – his entire look was just there. But, he was dead, Jane and Thor had said.

"Oh my god Oh my god what did I say about ghosts?!" Darcy shrieked, standing so quickly her chair knocked over. "Are there hauntings here? And are there Asgardian ghostbusters to call? Someone has to have noticed something like this before me, right?" There was no response. "How does an intergalatically-famous leader of nine or however-many realms just, go about his day and not notice this-" Turning to Ian, Darcy's words stuck in her throat. "Intern?" Ian was making a strange gurgling noise deep in his throat, a confused expression on his face as he stared at the pear in his hand. As they both watched, the image of a pear seemed to dissolve, leaving some sort of tar-black, thorny-skinned apple in his hand.

Ian's hand went slack and the thing disappeared altogether as he fell to his knees and he started to twitch. Darcy screamed, dashing across the room and falling to her knees in front of him. "Can you hear me? Ian?" His eyes met hers before rolling back into his head, foam starting to creep from the side of his mouth. She darted to the bedside table, snatching up a fancy goblet of water and bringing it his lips, but Ian seemed unable to take it. Darcy let out a whimpering sound she didn't even recognize as hers, staggering to the doorway and grabbing onto the stone to keep her upright, all thoughts of her discovery gone from her head.

"Help!" She shrieked, head swiveling to look up and down the corridors, which seemed deserted. "Thor! Jane!"

She turned back into the room, falling back into a crouch and gathering Ian into her arms. "Please don't die on me intern, this is not my department, I, aghh…" Ian's eyes were now closed, his breathing labored, though the convulsions had stopped. He looked more in a coma than in the midst of a seizure, though she wasn't sure which was worse.

A noise at the doorway made her look up, and Darcy screamed anew as something black came hurtling at her, descending upon her shoulder in a cacophony of humanistic snorts and caws. Her shoulders hunched, a hand protectively in front of her face, Darcy's eyes peeked open after a minute of no harm coming to her. A heavy weight was on her shoulder, and as her eyes moved left, she spotted large, black, gnarled talons clenched onto her bare shoulder, somehow painlessly. She whimpered again, taking in the sight of the whole massive black bird that had found her and hoping its beak wasn't going to find a home in her eye socket.

But no, it gave a weird cooing sound, arching its head against hers for a moment. Did birds purr? She was an Asgardian Doctor Doolittle, it seemed, and swallowed thickly after another glance at Ian and then back to the raven.

"Do you mean help?" She offered cautiously, and instead a voice from the doorway answered her. "Muninn will not harm you. What is the matter?" None other than Asgard's king had answered her scream for help. She'd have preferred Asgardian paramedics. Standing abruptly, Darcy backed up, the raven wobbling on her shoulder, eyes darting to her computer and then down to Ian, half-hidden by the edge of her bed. "Something happened to my friend. I think it was the fruit, it…changed…" She pointed a limp finger at the dish by the door, and Odin's eye darted to the offensive serveware and back to her, before resting on the intern at her feet.

"Eir!" He barked, and the room seemed to pulse with the abrupt command. Probably, there'd been some magic infused in the word, because a tall, slender brunette woman glided into the room ten seconds later. Wearing a long, silver gown and with an authoritative air, she must have been a healer because she took in the sight of Ian with one glance and was running her hands across his face and chest a moment later.

Tendrils of orange light crept from her fingertips and seemed to sink into Ian's prostrate form, and the woman frowned deeply, rising and turning towards the doorway as two women appeared with some sort of floating stretcher. "My Lord, it is some sort of potent poison. We will take him to the healing chambers, but I am not sure how much can be done. He sleeps peacefully enough, in some sort of deep sleep induced by the poison." With a flick of her wrist, Ian was transferred to the magical gurney thing, and Darcy was biting her lip, a hand halfheartedly rising in protest as they whisked him away.

That left Darcy, still inching bit by bit towards her open laptop. Odin and the healer, Eir, were conversing in hurried tones at her doorway, and she took the chance to lunge forward and slam her laptop closed. When she turned back, the woman was gone and Odin's sole eye was glaring at her. Barefoot, wearing only a skimpy black camisole and jeans, and the massive bird on her shoulder, she was again facing Odin. She poked a finger in the bird's direction without looking at it, to see if it would budge, but the raven only let out a petulant caw, adjusting itself against the bones of her shoulder. She winced, but it was sort of comforting, like a mini black feathered wingman.

Odin's gauntleted hand glinted in the light streaming in through her window as he pointed at the edge of the bed. "Sit, Miss…Lewis. You have some explaining to do."  
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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS. School ended today, and I rewarded myself with wrapping up chapter four here. ALSO, I LANDED COMIC CON TICKETS SO THERE'S THAT. HAPPY BON EQUALS UPDATES I GUESS.
> 
> Love the response. Hilariously enough, Ian's situation is NOT indeed the crime to be solved. There's much mroe to come.
> 
> I've taken some liberties with Muspels and their appearance, and also their wardrobes, as well as that of Jotuns. I'm researching furiously alongside every paragraph I write, not even kidding, but apologies if I run with something that seems way off.
> 
> Inadvertently during the course of research for this chapter, I discovered Costco sells caskets. You learn something everyday.
> 
> I also pay a little homage to the concept I dealt with in "All That's Left Are Your Bones", in this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy.

Jane Foster stood at the side of the channel that led to Asgard's ocean, if that was what it truly was, hugging herself for warmth despite the heavy satin cloak draped around her thin shoulders. She wasn't sure if it was the temperature or the somber task she was observing that lent the chill, as she watched as Thor laid one last flower onto a small barge tied at the water's edge. Stepping back, his head bowed, the god of thunder retrieved a blazing torch from a guard respectfully waiting several paces behind him, nodding his thanks and approaching the small floating shrine again.

With a tenderness that tugged at Jane's heart to watch, he touched the flames to the pyre he'd commandeered. When they started to spread successfully, he dropped the bundle of kindling into the midst of the collection of books, relics, personal effects, and floral offerings that she'd helped him collect all afternoon.

Thor untied the raft and seemed to mutter a final prayer as it started to drift out to sea, finally stepping back and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She caught the glint of a single tear rolling down his bearded cheek in the sunlight before he wiped it away briskly. Jane burrowed into him, blinking furiously as the small conflagration defied their sorrow, burning merrily even as it started to succumb to the tide.

She would not cry for Loki. She would not…She was crying for Loki. Turning fully into Thor, she wrapped her arms around his middle, sad more for him, she believed, than for the misguided soul they were seeing off. Thor regretted deeply the lack of ceremony he'd paid to Loki's death, and she knew it, suggesting as they left the throne room earlier that they right the situation promptly so he could enjoy the festival.

Several minutes passed in contented silence, before an approaching clanking noise roused Jane, who pried her face from Thor's chest in time to see a palace guard racing towards them. "My Lord," he declared breathlessly, sketching a hasty bow, "You must come quickly. Lady Eir sent me to tell you there has been an…incident with one of your companions, and that you should attend Lady Darcy." His grave tone and hasty retreat in the direction he'd come from allowed no questions, but Thor shot a worried glance at Jane.

"Darcy," the scientist muttered, swiping a hand through her hair. "Always into trouble."

Thor offered his hand, raising the other into the air. A moment later Mjölnir came swinging around the nearest building, and they were off, back to the palace.

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His first thought was, regrettably, about her attire, or lack thereof. His mother would never have been caught dead – he winced at his mental phrasing – in the sort of ensemble that evidently passed as apparel for this mortal girl. Muninn had finally left her shoulder, descending instead upon the back of a chair across the room as if to release the pressure upon her to explain. That left her scantily-clad torso wide open, and a he stared at her, seated mutely on the edge of the bed, she started to fidget, finally folding her arms across her ample chest to occupy her visibly shaking hands. Unfortunately, it only served to draw more attention to those assets, and Loki was glad his true expression was invisible as he considered what the true Odin would think of such a spectacle.

Starting to pace the guest quarters, Gungnir thumping lightly across the carpet, he kept quiet, awaiting an explanation of what exactly had happened. The girl – Darcy – withdrew a hand from across her ribs and started winding a long lock of chocolate-colored hair around her hair, eyes flitting back and forth as if replaying the scene to better word it. Finally, she started to speak.

"Ian was in here helping me with something," she said slowly, occupied as her mind was with recollection, "And he kept eating the fruit. He'd been eating it all day, all of the pears, which are my favorite-" Loki made a mental note, Odin's eye narrowing, "but he was fine until that last one, I think."

She abruptly rose, apparently unable to keep still, and darted to a side table, upon which was draped the sweater she'd been wearing earlier. She pulled it on and pulled it closed across her chest, retreating across the room to point vaguely in the direction of her computer. It didn't appear she wished to be in close proximity to him. "I was working on something when he made this choking noise and I turned, and he was eating another pear, only it wasn't a pear. I saw it change, I think he did too, it sort of melted? Into- into something different. Have you read Snow White?" She asked abruptly, halting his pacing as he turned to her.

"I am aware of the folk tales of Midgard, yes," he admitted gruffly, eyes focused on the wall across the room. It actually was not a lie; he'd had a lot of time to read in during his incarceration, and stories with a maniacal villain who practiced magic were always of interest, somehow. His gaze flicked to the door of her chambers when a loud knocking interrupted their interview.

He struck Gungnir against the floor once, and the door opened to admit a startled guard who nearly fell into the room, hand still raised in knocking. "My Liege, Lady Eir-" Odin cut the guard off, swinging the door shut with a wave of his hand before waving for the guard to continue. This could not be overheard, the rumors would spread like wildfire. And Muspel and Jötun emissaries were housed everywhere along this corridor…

"Lady Eir has sent me. Am I to sound the alarm? She mentioned discretion, but a royal guest…" The guard cut off at Odin's withering look, straightening his stance and awaiting the royal command.

"I will attend to this matter personally. Raise no alarm. Please inform Lady Eir and beg her aides' silence upon the issue as well. I will consult her shortly. That will be all." The guard bowed, leaving and closing the heavy door behind him, and Loki turned back to Darcy, expression expectant.

"It, uh," she waved her hands, seeking a metaphor as she resumed her tale. "It dissolved into this sinister apple-looking thing, and then it disappeared into thin air altogether. I don't know anything else, he was choking and foaming all over me!"

She rubbed at her arms as if the memory chilled her, and he pivoted on the spot to leave, pretending not to notice. "Remain here for the time being. I will have a specially-prepared meal brought for you soon, and you will of course attend the Lithasblot opening proceedings tonight." He paused to gauge any resistance, but her gaze was unfocused, aimed somewhere above and behind him. His head cocked to the side and he stopped talking, staring at her. What an odd mortal.

She seemed to feel his stare, shaking her head and blinking in his direction. He continued, "A servant will aid you in preparing for the festival. In the meantime, do not touch any more fruit, Lady Darcy." Then he was gone, the raven following after one last unnerving glance of its too-intelligent stare. She shivered when the door banged shut.

Odin's form strode angrily down a hallway, servants carrying platters of food and guests debating outfits for tonight dodging left and right to stay out of his path. Eir would have more information soon, and he had to stem any gossip before it spread. He'd be damned if all his plans were for naught, if all the work he had done to gather the realms would be spoiled because Thor had to bring some extra guests along on a field trip. The fact remained, however, that this seemed like a targeted blow; someone had been aiming to incapacitate, likely kill, one of the women in that room, likely the one he'd interrogated. Someone in Asgard, likely one of the guests he himself had brought here. Interesting; a change in housing could be required, as all of the "foreign" dignitaries were in that same corridor. However…

The festival would go on, mortal casualties or not.

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Darcy gustily blew a sigh of relief into the emptiness of her room, sinking down onto her bed and staring into space. That was weird. She'd been given some sort of good-cop routine by the big bad Odin. At least, she thought that's what it had been, and shuddered to think what one under Odin's suspicion would be subjected to. That creepy eye.

Suddenly, a pounding sounded at the door, making Darcy nearly jump out of her skin. As it was, she lurched sideways off the bed with a squawk, backing towards the wall as the heavy door clattered open. Seconds later, meaty hands had a hold of her shoulders, pulling her upright. "Darcy!" Thor's voice boomed down at her, drowning out Jane's own cry. "We were told something had happened, but they did not explain-"

"Whoa, whoa, big guy, I need those," Darcy soothed, squirming out of his grip and rubbing at one of her shoulders. "And keep it down, wouldja? Your Dad told me to keep this quiet…" Jane was next, throwing her small form at Darcy and locking her in a vice grip, eliciting another yelp from the intern.

"I'm okay, Boss Lady, I'm okay," Darcy murmured, unsure if she was speaking the words to assure them, or herself. Jane finally pulled back, and Darcy crawled back onto the bed to begin her tale anew. When she'd finished, Jane was several shades paler, her face cradled in her hands. "We should never have come," the scientist moaned, suddenly parting her hands to peer at Darcy through a net of fingers. "Wait, has anyone checked on Erik?!"

A frantic dash to the doorway ensued, the three of them piling out into the hallway to pound at Erik's door. After a moment, it swung open with a creak, and Erik's puzzled face stared out at them. The trio looked each way down the hallway, in complete synchronization, before shoving their way past him and into the room.

"Oh, Erik, you're okay," Jane muttered with relief, giving him a quick hug. His puzzled expression only deepened, as Erik looked over her head at Darcy and Thor. "What's going on?"

"You lost a, uh, roommate," Darcy started, trying for a casually flippant tone, but worry still colored her words. "Ian…Something happened, and he's in the, er, Asgardian hospital." She gave as bland a summary as she could; Erik couldn't endure much alarm, but he had to be wary. As she spoke, his expression grew gloomier than she'd ever seen. He wouldn't be the only one regretting coming, though.

"We should check on Ian," Jane murmured a few moments later, biting her lower lip. "But the welcome I received last time I was in those rooms…" Thor stretched a hand out to her, which she took. "We will go together." With a nod, they left the room, leaving Darcy shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she quirked her lip to the side in thought. Erik had slumped back onto his bed, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. When she muttered that she'd be across the hall, there was hardly any reaction, and Darcy felt another pang of guilt for bringing the poor guy here as she slipped back across the hallway to her own room.

As she reached for the door, something flickered at the corner of her vision. She looked up, muffling a gasp as she spotted what had to be the "Muspels" Fandral had explained were attending. Fire Giants, they were humanoid in appearance, though much taller, and appeared aflame at all times. Two were entering the chamber next to hers, the door spaced several paces down the hallway, but they paused before entering, flaming faces turning in her direction. It was unsettling, the way their coal-black eyes seemed to rest on her, one's slash of a mouth grinning in some sort of greeting. Darcy swallowed, nodded solemnly, and promptly flung herself back into her room. She had yet to meet the Frost Giants, but was sure they'd be no more pleasant.

Frost giants…Hadn't Thor said Loki had been revealed as one, around the time that massive destructive robot of death had come to Puente Antiguo? Loki... Darcy moved to the ornate dressing table in the room, standing with her arms braced against it, thinking hard. Eyes squinting at nothing in particular, she tried to recall everything she'd ever heard or learned of Loki. It came down to newscasts of New York, and the fairy tale book Erik had brought home back in Puente. She was a voracious reader, though, when she wasn't scrolling through her iPod or making spreadsheets of scientific data. Swiveling on the spot, she marched for the door, determined to find the library here, hoping she could read whatever alphabet there was here. She didn't have a PhD in Norse runes, but maybe she could solve at least one of the mysteries she'd stumbled across in Asgard.

As she reached for the door handle, a knock sounded. Her hand fell back to her side as Darcy stared at the door, afraid it would explode or be knocked down. It'd been that sort of day. Instead, a timid, lightly-accented voice asked through the door, "Lady Darcy? I am a palace servant, sent to attend you…"

Darcy clicked her tongue in thought, before stepping forward to open the door and wave the girl in. She was a few inches shorter than Darcy, and much slighter. Darcy Lewis could take her if she had to.

"I am Finna, My Lady," the girl offered quietly, cutting a curtsy that Darcy nearly cut off midway through. No one was bowing to her on her watch.

"Hi Finna," she offered cautiously, wary of any more curtsies. "Please call me Darcy. And you don't have to curtsy to me. I'm no queen."

The sprite-like brunette bobbed her head, which was topped with shiny curls tamed into a long braid, and darted to the dressing table. "The seamstress is on her way with several dress options for you, L- Darcy," she explained, already rummaging through drawers, retrieving fancy combs and brushes that Darcy hadn't even known were there.

Darcy had all but forgotten about the massive party they were here for, and was shocked when another knock at the door revealed who must have been the seamstress, a busty older blonde woman toting an armful of lush fabrics. She introduced herself as Adela and set right to measuring Darcy top to bottom with some strand of silk ribbon, though it appeared blank, no increments labeled or anything on it. She clucked her tongue approvingly at Darcy's bosom measurement, and patted her on the shoulder before turning back to her mound of material.

"This, I think," she said, turning around with a swath of deep teal, holding it to Darcy. The color was amazing, something Darcy had somehow never seen on any clothes on Earth, actually, a lovely blend of blue and green, with more of the latter. Adela started wrapping it around Darcy's arms, her waist, unraveling it down to her ankles, making some sort of mental notes as she did so. "One shoulder," she muttered to herself, holding a piece of the fabric diagonally across Darcy's chest. "And in at the waist…"

The intern was just blinking. She'd had a long day of intergalactic transportation, weird run-ins with intergalactic royalty, ghostly shenanigans, and her intern had been poisoned on top of it all. Now she was being measured for a gown like she was a bridesmaid in any old dress shop back home. And she was pretty sure the feast thing was in a couple hours, so how a dress would be completely made up by then was beyond her and her mortal capabilities, but Adela didn't seem the slightest bit fazed. Magic, probably.

A tug at the back of her head had Darcy whining, reaching a hand backwards to claw at Finna, who was yanking at her hair with a carved comb. The little servant girl actually swatted away Darcy's fingers, shushing her and jabbing one last pin into her hair. Adela had moved away to mutter over fabric trimmings, and Finna took the chance to turn Darcy around and display her hair in the full-length mirror.

Darcy gasped. She didn't even look like herself, chocolate locks restrained in a sloppy side braid, bangs loosely framing her face. Whoa. Darcy Lewis didn't really do elegant, but the person in the mirror had it going on.

"This is just practice, of course, me cobbling something together-" Finna started uncertainly, fidgeting at Darcy's silence, but the intern raised a hand to stop her. Turning to the girl, she squealed loudly, clasping her hands together. "I love it!" The servant smiled weakly and tried to curtsy again, but Darcy yanked her into an awkward hug instead.

When Finna had extricated herself from the exuberant mortal, Adela was nodding to herself, and gathering up all her materials again. "I will bring you your dress when it is time to ready yourself," she assured Darcy, swirling out the door in a whirlwind of fabrics and colors. Darcy could almost forget everything else that had happened; it was like getting ready for prom with royalty, and everything was free. Amazing.

Finna quickly let Darcy's hair fall loose again, directing her to the adjoining bathing chambers where she could remove the grime of the day's events. Recommending she take a nap, Finna darted out the doorway, pausing only to retrieve the platter of fruit that had lain there, untouched since Ian's incident. Darcy shuddered, swearing she'd sworn off fruit forever. Unless it was wine.

Wandering into the bath area, Darcy found a bathtub the size of a swimming pool back home, already full of steaming, fragrant, wholly inviting water. She had no idea if the plumbing in Asgard was psychic or if Finna had activated something or what, but it was a pleasant surprise to not have to crank a lever and wait for London's water system to lazily kick in. Quickly flinging off her clothes, the sight of which seemed offensive amid such finery as the materials Adela had shown her, Darcy slipped into the water, hoping Jane wouldn't barge straight in when she returned.

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Loki was fervently wishing Odin himself could endure the pounding headache behind the trickster's eyes at this moment; perhaps he'd have to seek a spell that would do such a thing. For the time being, he was overseeing the Healing Rooms, secreted in a vacant one to think.

The boy was indeed in some sort of deep sleep, but there was no telling, even by their Asgardian diagnostic magic, what the poison was intended to do, and how this sleep could affect him if he remained in such a state. His blood had been filtered by some elaborate device Eir was fond of, and the only poison remaining was any that had been absorbed into his system, hopefully a minimal amount, since he'd been treated so quickly.

Thanks to the Lewis girl's screams.

Not many had been told an envoy of mortals was accompanying Thor, as there had been no need – Midgard was not represented in the council meetings – but they had nevertheless trod all through the palace upon their arrival, and had also subsequently been wandering. Anyone could have seen them, nearly anyone could have had an opportunity to slip some spell work in among the refreshments the servants had brought. It could be one of the servants. But what purpose would that serve? A strike at Thor? An aim at Asgard's reputation, a weak mortal struck down mysteriously in the midst of such negotiations?

Knuckling his brow, Loki's eyes clenched shut, his breathing heavy as he tried to subdue the migraine swamping his senses. Thor's rumbling tones were audible through the wall, as he spoke to a healer in the hallway about Ian's condition. The oaf could not offer an ounce of help, yet he insisted upon full recounting of the incident, annoying the healers until one pulled him aside to tell him what they knew. It wasn't much, and the god was not pleased. Well, neither was Odin, and so after a few more words barked in the corridor, he swung around, hefting Gungnir and contemplating hitting Thor across the head with it.

Everyone quieted at the sight of the Allfather, which he was now accustomed to. Even Thor, which was a relief, except quieting him meant facing him, which was wearying in other ways, now. Quelling familiar phrases was something he was struggling with, since he'd had minimal contact with Thor since taking the throne. He wasn't proud of it, but the urge to call the thunder god "brother" was strong.

"My son," Odin called quietly. "What is the matter?"

Thor rushed to him. "Father, this man is my friend, a close mortal acquaintance." Everyone was Thor's friend though, the buffoon was like a dog, all wagging tail and grins and willingness to please. "An attack upon him cannot go ignored."

There was that rashness resurfacing again, the sort that had gotten them nearly killed in Jötunheim, the sort that had indirectly shown Loki he was not who everyone claimed he was. Shaking off the thought, he settled a grave stare on Thor. "Indeed. There shall be an investigation, though discrete. I trust you will understand why, with so many...others, between our walls and under our roofs. Everything is being done to care for the boy as well as can be. You must leave it at that, Thor." He started down the corridor, passing the open room where Jane Foster stood frowning down at the unconscious intern she was responsible for. "I expect you all at the Lithasblot inaugural feast tonight." He nodded, then carried on, leaving Thor lingering at the doorway.

He would not defy Odin's wishes again, not when the Allfather had shown such leniency in allowing him to depart for Midgard indefinitely. Jane looked up from the bedside of her intern's intern, nodding to show she'd heard Odin. "I guess we go get ready for a party?" She shot another glance at the unconscious man. "Whoever did this will probably be there." She spoke the words strongly, assuring herself, and Thor caught her drift as she marched over to him, grabbing his hand. As they left, their whispers started to assemble a plan.

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The feast had not begun, but still, the halls were fully decorated, food was being laid out, and overeager guests were already at the wine and mead, desperate to get a few solid tankards in before having to share with the crowd.

Whole pigs garnished every few feet of every table, seasoned dishes of Asgardian fowl dotted the tabletops in between, and caskets of wine covered the remaining space on each tablecloth. Everything was laid out banquet style, one high table representing Odin and the other leaders' positions, the rest of them laid out parallel, in two distinct rows. Serving staff, clad in gold Asgardian uniforms, darted to and fro, hefting platters and juggling goblets and balancing decanters of spiced wine.

Finally, everything was in place, servants retreating to the sidelines to rest until refills and replenishments were needed, and the flood of arrivals began.

Odin was positioned at the entryway, nodding, bowing at the waist, and giving otherwise respectful greetings to the various species, dignitaries, and guests arriving by the handful. He'd be here all night, if Thor and his mortals didn't hurry, Loki thought, noting their group was one of the last to show up.

The Muspels were always disconcerting to see, the way their flaming forms seemed likely to torch anything they came into contact with. And yet, not a flame escaped their bodies unless they wished it, he had come to understand; even the trails of fire that formed a sort of hair for the females swished against chair backs and hanging tapestries without harm. The ones attending tonight had some sort of ceremonial robes on, dark kimono-like garments that draped around them and blocked from sight some of the flames that danced across their skin.

The Jötuns were in slightly more formal attire as well, their typical loincloth-meets-kilt clothing abandoned for fur-lined tunics that covered their slate-blue torsos. Surprisingly, the females that had accompanied them, who had thus far shown no interest in council meetings, had attended as well, their shining dark hair a new sight among the males' bare, ridged scalps. The Jötuns stomped past Odin with scarcely a look in his direction, and Loki's eye-roll was strong enough that his vision dotted for a moment.

At last, Thor appeared, in full regalia, armor replaced with a fitted leather tunic, though his crimson cape adorned his shoulders as always. Jane Foster was looking admirable, he had to admit, her slight form swathed in layers of tulle and chiffon that gave her a fairy-like air. She'd make a fine Asgardian, if it came to that. They swept past him, tailed by the doctor, Selvig, who didn't look pleased, but seemed better than when they'd arrived.

He was clad in some sort of loose robe, similar to what Odin himself wore, and the hints Thor had given him about the addled scientist seemed to have paid off, the loose garment proving to be to the mortal man's liking. Loki almost felt regret at the thought of what he'd diminished the man to; he did commend his intelligence and presence, after all, though he could not do so outright. The guards were nearly ready to close the banquet hall doors, when a thud and subsequent curse sounded down the corridor, signaling Darcy Lewis' presence.

When she appeared, hobbling into sight after struggling with the heeled boots she wore, he nearly did a double take. The change from Midgardian style had proved a vast improvement upon the mortal, whom he had already found regrettably appealing.

A deep teal satin looked to have been painted upon her curves, so perfect was the fit. The fabric wrapped around her marvelously, a golden sash cinching her slender waist and accentuating the glare of her hips. The material trailed down to whisper around her ankles, while a slash of fabric cut across her chest, unfortunately covering most of her neckline, but tightly outlining it nonetheless. One pale shoulder was bared, her hair swept from it to cascade down across the other in a plait laced with flowers he recognized from the gardens outside. The effect upon him was profound, but Loki forced decorum, keeping Odin's face expressionless as she stumbled up to the doorway, fumbling with her skirts.

"Allow me," he offered quietly, raising a hand to her. She accepted after a moment's hesitation, her eyes drilling into him as if she were looking for something. Her hand was chilled and shaking slightly as he led her inside the hall, nodding for the guards to close the doors. Mortals could certainly clean up well.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, Darcy's hair and dress inspirations shall be posted on my tumblr because pretty. Cannot recall if I've said it here, but my username's talesOfAGardenGnome. Thanks for reading ~Bon


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I am soo sorry for the lag in updates, my spring break has been quite a bit more hectic than I planned.
> 
> So, I've taken some weird liberties with a concept in this chapter that I've always debated over: Loki's illusions. We see them dissolve under contact, we see them able to tangibly grip Gungir in the end scene of TDW; I've gone back and forth in my fics as to whether or not his projections are tangible, and I offer a sort of final word on the matter here, you'll see.
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to the lovely Yavannies, who supplied the term for Asgard's, well, GUARDS.
> 
> Big scene in this chapter. As always, let me know thoughts, theories, everything! Enjoy!

Heimdall stood in Asgard's observatory, staring into the cosmos but not quite seeing it at the moment, his gaze dulled by heavy thoughts. He was no stranger to omission from the guest lists of Asgardian celebrations, his duties were far too important; but he wondered if he might attend this evening's festivities anyways, since such events could pass under his vigilance as those that occurred scant hours before.

He had spotted nothing leading up to the poisoning of the mortal, but his view of Asgard had seemed clouded all morning, doubtless some magic at work to conceal the harm intended for Thor's company. Frustration was now a familiar emotion to the observer, despite nothing but serenity ever crossing his visage; ever since Thor's first stunted coronation, the most significant forces Asgard had faced had slipped his watch, time and time again. It was a wonder he had not been replaced, but Odin's understanding and wisdom were extensive. Lately, though, it had not seemed so.

His vision had cleared just in time to witness what happened to the mortal boy, the girl's screams reverberating in his mind, but he could do nothing but man his post as he watched Odin himself respond to the incident. Interesting. And Heimdall had not been consulted, no inquiries made into what he may have seen or not; perhaps Odin took the lack of warning as confirmation there was nothing more the watchman could tell him.

Shifting on his feet, Heimdall let out a rare sigh, inaudible to all but the silent walls of the observatory, the Bifrost shimmering away with no care for his worries. Something was afoot, again, and he would be damned if he simply watched more catastrophic events unfold. Eyes narrowing as they scanned again the cosmos that lay before his gaze, Heimdall tightened his grip on the Uru sword that had served him faithfully for so many millennia, determined not to even blink as he focused on the Lithasblot banquet.

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The walk to her designated place at a table in the feasting hall seemed much, much longer than it was in actuality. Finna had told her that Odin had arranged the seating at the High Table a long time ago for this particular feast, and so Thor's party had been hastily moved around to sit at the table closest to it. Casting a furtive glance at her escort, Darcy wished she'd been seated at any, any of the further away tables they passed, her steps heavy with discomfort as she navigated the flagstone flooring.

Odin felt weird. He had placed her hand upon his armored forearm, and she was all to glad to relinquish direct contact with his hand. Chilly it was, but that was not the bulk of her unease – it felt like she was touching the hood of a car that was running, while simultaneously her hand awaited a shock of static electricity or something. His hand felt fuzzy to her touch, like her own was asleep, but it definitely wasn't. And the armor, something composed of layered plates of shaped metal, did not feel anything like it seemed it should.

She was also painfully conscious of the drastic reduction in volume of the feast when she entered on Odin's arm, their entrance heralded by the banging shut of the hall doors. Creepy Muspels gazes, the inquisitive crimson eyes of Jotuns, raised eyebrows of Asgardians – they were all aimed at her, and she suppressed a shiver with some difficulty. Maybe this wouldn't be so fun.

Heaving a sigh of relief when he deposited her into a rigid-backed wooden chair, Darcy nodded and smiled in thanks, but he didn't even notice, already headed for the High Table. Oookay then. Looking back around her own table, she blushed under the gazes of the Warriors Three and Sif, the latter of whom looked not at all happy to be seated with the "children", as she'd muttered under her breath with a glare in Darcy's direction, who returned it.

"You look great!" Jane piped up, her own dislike of the female warrior visible in her obvious efforts to not look towards that side of the table. The tiny astrophysicist was luckily seated on Darcy's left, with Fandral on her other side, and Jane gave her a quick one-armed hug. Thor gave her one of his goofball grins across the table, mouth already full of something – she was immediately reminded of the picture she'd taken of him in Izzy's diner. Simpler times.

"So, escorted by the Allfather himself! Quite an honor, m'dear," Volstagg boomed through a mouthful of turkey leg – at least, she hoped it was turkey leg . "I was just the last one in, I think he wanted to get started," Darcy mumbled evasively, rubbing her fingers together and frowning at the memory of the weird sensation of touching Odin.

She fidgeted with a napkin, unsure of table etiquette in this realm. Jane shielded her mouth with a slanted hand as she furtively whispered to treat the feast like she was dining with a sty of pigs. Volstagg's ensuing whine of dismay confirmed this, as a chunk of whatever poultry it was vanished into the depths of his beard. He mumbled something about using it as snack later, and Darcy was finally comfortable again. Fandral sent her a winning smile, filling her goblet to the brim with some sort of wine, and she broke into a wide grin herself after a deep draught, reaching for a platter of something that looked chickenesque. So long as the booze kept flowing, she'd be okay.

Darcy had been seated for about ten minutes before a loud banging noise silenced the feasting crowds, and Odin rose in his place at the High table.

"Neighbors, allies, my friends," he began, voice strong enough to reach every corner of the large hall. "I welcome you officially to Asgard with this celebration of Lithasblot, a holiday I have always held in the highest regard. As you have seen, my m-" Odin paused to clear his throat, shifting Gungnir from one hand to the other. "My queen, Frigga, is no longer among us, but she was very nearly the patron goddess of this holiday. Her magical skills were revered far and wide, and she adored this very celebration, spending many a night planning it. And so, first, I ask you all to raise a glass with me, this eve –" Odin raised an ornate goblet, as did many around the hall, but the Muspels and Jötuns shot many a side glance at each other before complying. Darcy noticed both sorts of giants had oversized goblets to accommodate their larger grips. "—in memoriam of Frigga, fallen Queen of Asgard." The crowd mirrored his phrasing, and the Allfather took a quick swig with the rest of them.

His grip slipped a bit when he replaced his goblet upon the banquet table, but his stance was steadily formal as he straightened, continuing his speech. "Let us think of these festivities as the unofficial commencement of a new alliance between all of our realms – Asgard, Vanaheim, Muspelheim, Jötunheim, even Midgard." Here he shot a succinct nod in Jane and Darcy's direction, though their realm was not included in the negotiations. "May we all enjoy peace and prosperity, thanks in part to the graces of both sorcery and natural magicks. I hope you all pass a pleasant time here; Asgard is honored to have such guests in attendance." With another nod, Odin sat, flicking a hand in a gesture for servers to resume their activities.

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An hour and a half later, Darcy was drunk, and knew it. Unsteadily waving off an offer from Fandral to refill her goblet again, the intern rose, even more unsteadily, clinging to the heavy back of her chair, a goblet of what she'd been told was water in one hand. "I need air," she mouthed at Jane, whose own rosy cheeks and loud laughter hinted at equal intoxication. The scientist said something that sounded suspiciously like "Okay, have a happy new year!" and toppled from her chair into the lap of Volstagg next to her.

Further down, Volstagg's wife scowled, and Jane made an apologetic squeal before a laughing Thor retrieved her to sit on his own lap, where he could keep her upright. Jane didn't get out much, to say the least, and otherworldly booze was putting her through the embarrassment ringer at an accelerated pace. Maybe the alcohol would be kind and she wouldn't remember a thing.

Darcy left at that point, knowing she and Jane would, either way, deeply regret in the morning having challenged Thor to a mead-swilling contest. She'd finished maybe a tankard and a half, and more than half a dozen littered his place at the table. He wasn't even drunk in the slightest. Damn space men.

Staggering between two of the lengthy tables in what she hoped was the direction of the exit, Darcy had to beg her sluggish reflexes to help her side-step a fistfight that spilled into the aisle way, and then again to lurch out of the way of a trio of servers bringing another complete roast pig to a table. Finally, she was at the heavy wooden doors, staring dumbly at the glossy oak blocking her way as if they'd open with her mind's urging.

"Lady Darcy," one of the guards started with a respectful nod, though she was sure she deserved no less title than "white girl wasted" at the moment. "Do you require assistance?"

She stared at the door a moment longer, trying to comprehend his words, before clearing her throat and flapping a hand at the doors. "I need some air, can you let me out?" It came out slightly more towards "S'air, lemmout?" but the guards seemed to understand, each jumping forward to grip a hefty handle and let her pass.

The high-ceilinged hall was quiet and cool, both of which were needed. She slumped onto a fancy bench placed a few paces down the corridor, angling her lips to blow her bangs off her face. She tried not to quaff the water, having heard somewhere that it would make her drunk anew. She wasn't sure if that was a scientifically proven fact, but who knew where Asgardian booze was concerned.

Twenty minutes later, she felt a little clearer, and stood up carefully. Darcy Lewis was done partying for the time being, she thought, deciding to take a stroll down the darkened corridor for more air, because it was always a great idea to wander about dark hallways when your intern had been poisoned in your room that morning. Shrugging off her worries with the assistance of her lingering intoxication, Darcy left her empty goblet on the bench, hiking up her skirts with one hand and following the corridor with a hand trailing along the wall. All at once, a weird fluttering sound reached her, and she froze, eyes clamping shut, afraid she'd be dragged back to the banquet to face Odin's Wrath of Table Manners or something like that.

Instead, a rough caw reached her, and as she turned, squinting one eye open, she spotted the raven from earlier. Monkey was its name, or something like that. Her other eye opened, and there was a minute-long staring contest as she wondered what the bird was doing, perched on the shoulder of a nearby statue with its head cocked to the side.

"M…Monkey?" Darcy ventured, and with another quiet caw, the bird launched from its foothold, only to land on another statue further down the hall. She shot another surreptitious glance around her, then followed, watching as the raven repeated itself, winding down another corridor as if it were leading her somewhere. With a shrug, Darcy murmured aloud that she could do worse than trusting a seemingly pretty smart bird, and tiptoed after it.

Why there were no guards about was beyond her, the dim lighting of scarce torches making it hard enough to see her way. She passed the completely concealed feet and legs of a prone, uniformed body, shoved behind another decorative statue.

The raven, for its part, was becoming increasingly agitated, its caws becoming sharper and more insistent. Darcy's alcohol-hazed thoughts finally decided she would move faster with more light, and she spent a minute hopping up and down against the wall, trying to retrieve a lit torch from its sconce. Finally it came loose, and she held it aloft with one hand and her skirts in the other, feeling ridiculously like a heroine in a gothic novel from Jane Austen's time.

At last, Darcy's drunken stumbling landed her at a marble-trimmed doorway, the wood painted a nice forest green shade. Some Asgardian runes labeled the door, which she of course couldn't read, but the bird was pecking at the door, so she plowed onward, shoving against it with all her weight. It gave way easily, sending her off-balance with all the strength she'd given it, and Darcy nearly tripped over her hem and fell to the stone flooring. Grimacing, she dropped her skirts, waving a finger at the bird. "Tell no one."

Then she looked around, a brow raising as she wondered why she'd been led here. It was obviously a library, the room oval-shaped and lined with bookshelves to the vaulted ceiling perhaps forty feet above her. Highly-polished wheeled ladders were placed sporadically on rails that encompassed the entire length of the shelving, but she wondered who used them; Asgardians could probably all magic down the books they wanted. The ceiling itself was…weird, reminding her of the science center she'd visited when she was a kid; it looked like a cross between the night sky and space itself, pinpricks of light accompanied by strange swirls of all colors of the rainbow.

The raven cawed again, perched on one of the ladders and jabbing its beak furiously at a particular shelf. Frowning, Darcy set the torch in an empty wall-holder and wandered over, noting the shelf was nearly chock-full of rune-labeled tomes, but a couple were somehow in the latin alphabet she was used to reading English in. They all started with "m", and the raven was pecking at one labeled 'magicks'.

"How original," Darcy muttered, more curious than ever as she reached for the book. As she did so, a thud echoed into the room from down the corridor outside, and she paused, looking towards the door. Seeing and hearing nothing more, she grabbed the book, following the raven to the nearest table and plopping the tome down.

"I think I'm still drunk. Why else would I be following birds and making literature choices based upon their insight," she muttered, watching the raven pry at the cover of the book. What followed was even weirder, as she watched it flip pages until it came to a particular one titled 'illusionary techniques'. Why the damn book was in English, she had no clue, half-believing she was imagining or dreaming all of this, passed out on the bench down the hall in reality.

The raven cawed again, right in her ear, and Darcy winced as she bent to skim the page its talons had pinned open. Blah blah blah, deceptive to the eyes and ears but not other senses, blah blah blah – wait, what?

"Illusionary magick is one of the most difficult, its effects far-reaching and completely disarming to opponents when used correctly. When physical touch, taste, and revelatory scents are avoided, detection is nearly impossible, the user able to convey through sight and sound an exact replica of the desired subject. However, well-practiced and powerful users have been documented as able to manipulate even those three discerning senses at times, but at great energy expense," she read aloud, her words slowing as she reached the end. Quirking a brow at the raven, Darcy slumped back in the ornate chair she'd flopped into, blowing her bangs from her face again.

"What did I just read?" She drummed her fingers on the table, definitely able to feel sobriety returning, and with it, a heavy sense of dread.

And then, a crashing noise in the hallway sent the raven aloft in a burst of black, and Darcy scooted back in her chair, standing and staring at the open library door.

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It was a few moments after Darcy quitted the hall that a haggard and panting guard rushed into the banquet hall, dashing up to the High table and bending to Odin's ear. The Allfather's expression grew pensive, as did Loki's beneath it, and he nodded curtly, flicking a hand to indicate the guard should leave him. Then he rose with a little difficulty, sighing before magically enhancing his tone to encompass the whole room again.

"My friends, I have a small matter to attend to, but please, refill your cups and enjoy the splendor of the Asgardian kitchens' skills," he announced, grip tightening on Gungnir. "I shall return shortly." Thor was frowning from his place below, bending to whisper into Jane's ear, who was still perched on his lap. Her drunkenness was only half a show, as she hicupped and nodded back at him, brow furrowing as she scanned the tables and revelers around them.

Odin was striding briskly towards the hall doors, and when he'd slipped outside, Jane and Thor moved to follow, halted when the guards' spears crossed to form a metal 'x' that barred their way.

"Let us pass," Thor rumbled at them, looking from one to the other.

"Apologies, my lord, but the Allfather has conveyed that absolutely no one is to leave the hall until he has returned. He assured us he sealed the doors magically himself," murmured one apologetically. Thor and Jane exchanged a look of alarm, but there was nothing to be done, and they returned to their table, Jane still staggering, only half-intentionally.

"What do you think is going on?" She hissed in a whisper, once they were seated again.

"I do not know, but it is troubling," Thor whispered back, lips pressing to her hair as his eyes too scanned the hall. "For father to have left the hall in the midst of the Lithasblot feast is very strange."

"Maybe we should pay our respects to some of the guests," Jane murmured, words still slurring, and Thor grinned into her hair in agreement. Standing, Jane tried to pat her hair back into some semblance of tameness, and they headed for the Jötun delegation's seats.

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The guard was apparently the only one of his kind outside the banquet hall who was not incapacitated at the moment, if he was to be believed. According to the panting Einherjar, all of the palace sentries had been felled, this one escaping just in time to alert Odin. He could not explain what had done it, the being was masked and cloaked in black, but it had demanded the Allfather's presence or the festival guests would be next.

And so Loki strode through deserted wings of the palace, having placed a silencing barrier spell upon the banquet hall and surrounding rooms. He'd expected some sort of attempt, but he was not gifted with prescience as his mother had been. He had laid the trap and waited to respond as needed.

What he had not expected was an expertly-planned attack by a being much more powerful than any mere Muspel or Jötun. As he rounded the corner of the passage leading towards the library and his private study, a magical blast from behind sent him crashing to the floor, hissing in pain. Gungnir clattered from his grip to land several paces further away, and when he tried to magically summon it, the spell failed.

"What-" he grunted, flipping himself over and taking a deep breath to try and maintain the illusion of Odin's face. Fighting at the same time would be a challenge, particularly if – he tried a blast of power from his own hands, and his magic fizzled and died before it left his fingertips – this enemy could disable offensive magical abilities. His illusion seemed to be holding for the moment, though, and he was glad of it.

He couldn't even see who he was aiming at, darkened as the palace was, the light of the few remaining torches somehow diffused by the enemy magic in the air. Loki swiped a dagger from his boot, having no care for how the action appeared with the illusion in place, flipping it between his fingers in preparation to hurl it. At last, a being appeared, striding down the hall and looking carefree as its black cloak billowed in a phantom wind.

Loki's lip curled beneath Odin's face. He adored dramatics as much as the next villain, but really. Odin's eye narrowed as his posture straightened, hands at his sides.

"Who are you?" He demanded gruffly, feeling like a stereotype but curious to see what the reaction would be.

"Your end, Allfather. Your allotted reign ended long ago." The words were cold, raspy like dried leaves blowing across stone, and the figure pulled out its own wickedly-curved blade, the sharp edge looking like ebony glass in the lighting. Perhaps it was; glass was a better channel for magic than steel.

"Your monologues require polishing, as do your plans," Odin spat. "You think to destroy me in my own palace? You think I shall be overcome so easily?"

"Your magic is already disabled, as are the bulk of your guards," the grating words continued, and Loki tried to remember where he'd heard the voice before. "Die quietly, and I shall have no cause to take your son as well, Odin."

The words may have struck home to the true Allfather, but Loki shrugged nonchalantly, instead meeting his foe head-on as they charged, brandishing their own knife. He tried his magic again, feeling a tiny spark cooperate with the hand holding his dagger. Odin's magic was known, millennia old as his abilities and intimidating presence were, but Loki's was ever-adapting, his skills undergoing constant refinement.

The cloaked fiend had the momentum, though, and the pair crashed into the stone flooring with a resounding boom, torches rattling in their sconces upon the walls. The creature was of a height scarcely more than that of the average Midgardian male, but Loki knew not to trust in something so simple as form to identify them. He himself was proof that even obvious creatures like Frost Giants could appear in all shapes and sizes.

Grunting, he slashed out with his dagger, catching some of the being's cloak with his blade. But even as he did, he sacrificed balance, and he was pinned to the floor anew, a gauntled hand around his neck, the metal digging deep into his throat. He scarcely heard the muttered Midgardian curses that sounded off to the side, preceding something hurtling into his foe and knocking them to the side.

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There was a brawl going on in the hallway, Darcy noted distantly, having crept to the door of the library and peering out. The raven descended upon her shoulder, making upset little noises, and she hesitantly reached up to stroke the glossy dark feathers brushing against her cheek. Her eyes widened as she realized Odin was fighting some black-cloaked figure, both slashing with daggers and for some reason, Odin not using any crazy magic spells like she'd expect. Eyes dropping, she noticed his funky spear-scepter thing on the floor near her boots, and she fidgeted, unsure of what she was seeing or what to do.

Immediately, she swore off Asgardian alcohol forever, then relinquished the oath in favor of drinking heavily to forget this experience. Where were the guards? Where was everyone else, was this some sort of honor duel that she shouldn't be witnessing? Then she caught part of the cloaked figure's words, and realized it was some sort of assassination attempt.

"Darcy Lewis, Savior of Asgard and Partner of Strangely Humanoid Birds," she muttered, buoying her courage with thoughts of prospective new titles she'd be endowed with after saving the lord and master of the realm. Looking down at her evening attire, she stifled a snort of laughter at how ridiculous this would look. Then she promptly crouched to grab the spear, the raven lifting off from her shoulder into the air. Hopefully it understood her plan, but she swore aloud for the entire time it took to dash towards the fight, throwing herself onto the cloaked combatant and knocking herself breathless.

Hopefully she'd chosen the right team, she thought, quickly darting away from the scary being she was now associating with the Nazgul from the Lord of the Rings, and throwing the stupid frilly spear-thing at Odin. He caught it with no small measure of surprise in the small window of time he gained when Muninn the raven promptly dove at the enemy to keep it occupied.

There was no plan past getting the creep off of Odin's windpipe, Darcy acknowledged, backing against the wall as she watched the Nazgul bat away the raven and whirled towards her with a snarl.

"Why do I do these things?" She wondered aloud, edging sideways along the wall and wondering if she could make it to the library to lock herself in and sleep off the hangover and nightmare she was clearly imagining. Suddenly, there was a crackling noise, and the corridor seemed to brighten. Some sort of evil spell breaking? She continued her awkward progress, squeaking when she bumped painfully into another damn decorative statue. They sure were into commemorating themselves around these parts.

Odin and the Nazgul were at it again, circling each other, weird flashes of light now sparking as they collided. All of a sudden Odin cried out in pain, his left arm falling to his side as the Nazgul wrenched his blade from a gap in the armor over the Allfather's shoulder. A blast from the spear sent the black-clad figure backwards, but Odin was down to a kneeling position on one knee, breathing heavily.

Darcy looked for the Nazgul guy, but he'd disappeared into the shadows, and she shivered, deciding she'd rather stand near creepy, haunted Odin than be set upon alone in the dark. She started for him, when her eyes caught a blackness, darker than the shadows even, hurtling towards him from behind. He couldn't see and a scream of warning wouldn't help him know what to avoid, so she dove for Odin, tackling him to the side as the Nazgul lurched past, off-balance. The raven immediately set upon it, all harsh caws and raking talons, and then the cloaked figure was gone, for good, Darcy thought, because the air suddenly felt much clearer, echoing footfalls dying away.

Then she came to full awareness of her situation, and her position atop the Allfather of Asgard.

She started shaking uncontrollably as the passage she'd read came back to her, pointed out to her for whatever reason by the intelligent bird. Odin's plated armor resembled a metallic accordion, sort of, along his forearms, but that did not match with what she felt. She felt long, smooth metallic cuffs, their surface interrupted only by some sort of engraving. Her hand that lay on his chest felt not an armored breastplate, but a complicated weaving of material that felt a lot, and smelled a lot, like leather. Her other hand reached for his face in the moment before he reacted, her trembling fingers detecting a smooth, clean-shaven, angular jaw line where there should have been a grizzly beard.

She couldn't help it – she screamed, flinging herself backwards and in the process, tripping over her plentiful skirts. Ignoring a burning in her arm and scuttling backwards on her hands and feet like a crab, her hair in her eyes and her breath coming in ragged gasps, Darcy watched as Odin drew himself to his feet. But it wasn't Odin at all, she realized, as the air seemed to waver, like that above a hot asphalt surface, and the image of Thor's father seemed to ripple away, replaced by that of a dead man.

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The mischief god's mind raced, evaluating memory spells and potions, even debating killing her outright and blaming it upon his would-be assassin. Something in him shied away from the last option, though, as he noted the freely-bleeding slash upon the trembling girl's arm, a token she'd received in defense of his own life. In response to something in his expression, the raven, Muninn, landed on the stone floor in front of the girl, who was attempting a crawling retreat, and cawed loudly in protest.

There were several silent moments, the tension in the air sliceable by a blade like the one he still held, the girl making scant progress down the corridor as she edged away. Neither spoke, green eyes appraising petrified blue as Loki sought a plan. But his quick mind was failing in the face of her fear; he knew by now it was not characteristic of her, having gathered much information from the servants who had attended her, and Volstagg and Fandral, who were close companions of her.

In the end, he offered no comfort, relying on the honed blade of his tongue to manage her.

"Do get off the ground. I enjoy my subordinates groveling at my feet immensely, it's true, but you rather resemble a wounded rabbit at the moment."

"And you're the – the fox, is that right?" The girl managed with as much sarcasm as she could manage, voice shaky, but her statement forced a harsh bark of unwilling laughter from his lips.

"The fox who, it seems, may owe the rabbit a small boon in thanks for its earlier actions," Loki admitted gruffly, sheathing his dagger and striding towards Darcy, who tried to quicken her crawling pace. He nevertheless reached her side in five long strides, fluidly crouching despite the blood still flowing from his own shoulder, and she halted. He raised a hand and she flinched, but he merely wrapped long fingers around her own bleeding arm, murmuring something that incited a flare of green light. She winced, but only for a moment, her eyes instead widening in wonder when his blood-smeared fingers retreated, leaving no trace of a wound, only splatters of crimson across her forearm. His other hand reached out and flicked her long locks, many of which had escaped her braid, behind her ears and out of her face, his fingers moving unconsciously, it seemed.

"Consider that repayment," he muttered shortly, rising to his full height and starting to pace.

"I'm still drunk, I'm still drunk," Darcy muttered aloud, her eyes fluttering back and forth, and he fervently hoped she would not faint. He was in no mood to deal with inconvenient mortal theatrics.

To her credit, she did not, finally regaining her feet and stumbling to the wall for support, plastering herself flat against it and taking several deep breaths.

"You're still alive," she managed after a moment, scanning him up and down, and did he detect some appreciation in that vibrant cerulean gaze? "Erik will be pissed," she murmured as an afterthought to herself.

"Quite." He bit off the word, miming her and leaning against the wall opposite her, raking his own eyes brazenly up and down her dress. That got a rise out of her, eyes narrowing as she huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

"Thor has no idea? Does anybody? I thought Odin was just being haunted…" Darcy's thoughts started spilling verbally, her eyes on the ceiling as she thought. "Wait, where is the real Odin? Did you kill him?"

"You need not be concerned with that," Loki replied coolly, launching from the wall and stalking towards her. Darcy tried to flatten herself further against the wall, eyes clenching shut against an assault, but he merely braced an arm against the wall above her head, his body effectively caging her in. "You, on the other hand, are quite a liability at the moment."

"Just do it. Wasn't looking forward to the thesis I had due a couple days after we got back anyways," Darcy ground out, eyes still closed. Loki blinked, clueless as to what the latter part of her statement referred to. "If I was preparing to kill you, why would I expend valuable magical energy on healing your wound?"

His logic clicked into the gears in her mind, and the intern's eyes flew open, her cheeks coloring slightly as she realized his proximity. "You're…gonna let me go?"

"As I said, you are a liability," Loki restated, not reassuring at all, his other hand rising to grip her chin firmly. "As soon as you leave my presence, you'll run to my idiot brother and his little scientist and reveal all. Your sort doesn't keep their mouths shut easily."

She paled again, afraid he was going to sew her lips shut or something. She had read a little further into the mythology than Jane had, after all. "What are you gonna do to me?"

Finally, he paced away from her, leather coat whipping around his boots with the movement, and Darcy breathed a sigh of relief at regaining ownership of her personal space. "Strike a deal, temporarily. You will not reveal my presence – and trust that I will know if you utter a word of this – and you will be allowed to leave with the others, unharmed."

Darcy wasn't stupid. Her brow quirked up as did her chin, tone defiant as she eyed Loki. "I'm sure that's not all."

"No. I propose an alliance. As it stands, I require your assistance." She wondered if he'd given himself an Asgardian hernia at that admittance, he gave such a painful grimace at his own words. She started winding the escaped tendrils of her hair around a finger, swallowing thickly as he started to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Sorry it's been a while, received a review that killed my enthusiasm and now...I don't know.
> 
> I'm looking into posting some different MCU stories, I really loved Cap America 2, and I'm starting to feel like I've exhausted my tasertricks arsenal. Regardless, I'll finish this, probably sooner than planned.

Jane wasn't sure which were more intimidating, the Muspels or the Jötuns. Both were freakishly tall when standing, making her wonder if she ought to be atop Thor's shoulders to greet them. As it was, she reached mid-thigh on the fire demons as they rose and bowed at the waist in deference to Thor, as he and Jane approached them.

"Greetings, Thunder," one Muspel offered, its voice crackling and popping like a real fire. This was apparently their term for Thor, as others echoed the name, and re-seated themselves with a gesture to two seats in their midst. They were unusually hospitable, if Thor's expression was any indicator, and Jane feigned straightening her skirts to make certain a dagger she'd been told to shove into her boot was still there. Not that it would do much against these monsters, whom she'd learned could only be felled by extreme cold or massive deluges of water. In fact, Thor had told her the Muspels and Jötuns despised each other so on an elemental basis – the extremes wherein each lived directly threatened the other, and avoidance was a high priority. And yet, they had all answered Odin's summons.

The fire demons were only the first on the list to be casually interviewed, and the feast was by now well underway. Jane poured herself another goblet of wine, telling herself she'd only sip this time, and let Thor steer the conversation.

"How are you enjoying your stay in Asgard, Surtur?" He asked politely, aiming his words at the leader of the Muspels, whose costume was slightly more elaborate, his flames burning slightly brighter somehow. The fire demon bowed his head in acknowledgement, and when he spoke, his voice was as strange as the others. "Many thanks for the Allfather's invitation; we have accomplished much thus far."

"Last time I visited Muspelheim, I noticed the hothouses you use were struggling," Thor observed lightly. "I hope Asgard is able to negotiate a trade agreement to your liking, and help keep your people content."

Surtur nodded gravely, flaming hands cradling his goblet as he seemed to stare into its depths. "There has been much difficulty due to the unrest in the realms," the fire demon chief conceded, finally raising his obsidian eyes to Thor's. "Perhaps the younger, wiser generations, led by those like yourself, will be the ones to finally bring about the peace and prosperity the Allfather speaks of." It was a curious statement, and Thor bowed his head in a bark of laughter, grinning back at Surtur. "My friend, I have no desires to lead anymore, and I am no diplomat; I merely consume the harvest and occasionally hit things!"

His words started a bout of laughter among the Muspels, and Jane shivered at the strange hissing noise.

"It is a shame our friend Ian is unable to enjoy this tonight," Thor said soberly when the laughs had abated. "He mightily enjoys food, as do I."

"Did he not come with you?" A random fire demoness inquired, digging into a chunk of meat.

"He's ill, we've been told," Jane finally chimed in, tearing at a piece of bread with her fingers and trying to glance around the table. Mysteries and subterfuge were not her thing, but the poor guy wasn't even on payroll. She had to do something to help.

For their part, the Muspels had very schooled expressions, but Surtur's movements were slightly jerkier as he poured from another flagon of wine. "A shame," he quietly replied. "Asgard's festivals are legend amongst all the realms."

He said no more, and the conversation soon died down, and Thor and Jane excused themselves, pleading obligations to greet the Jötuns. Surtur's fiery lip curled at that, and he bowed his head rather more curtly than before as they headed to the next long table.

The Jötuns were not dubbed the Frost Giants for no reason, Jane was soon thinking, for their manners, tone of voice, everything was icy and inhospitable. It was a wonder they came, she thought, unless it was not to fraternize. The blue creatures made no show of not rising to greet her and Thor, who pulled her to the side with a hurried whisper, suggesting she check in with the Vanites instead. Over his shoulder, she caught the spooky, crimson gaze of a Jötun, and quickly agreed to move ahead.

When Jane had moved away, Thor made no greetings beyond a cursory hello to the table. Instead, he moved to the shoulder of the Frost Giant who had taken Laufey's place, a massive male named Hagen. He actually carried a sword, unlike many of the others, to whom physical weapons were cumbersome and scarcely needed. It only added to his intimidating air, though, and Thor was cautious as he nodded to Hagen.

"I will keep this short," he murmured to the giant, whose head cocked in his direction, but who gave no other indication he was hearing Thor's words. "I will find who has harmed one in my company, and I will give no mercy, Hagen."

The giant's head slowly turned, liquid scarlet gaze narrowing on Thor. "What makes you think it will end with one?"

Thor hid his astonishment, reaching over to swipe a swig of Hagen's goblet. At least the frosty being occasionally spoke frankly. The thunder god slammed the now-empty goblet back onto the table, turning without another word to find Jane.

There were only a few who were aware of what had passed, and all were in Thor's confidence, except the healing staff, who were never to be doubted in their discretion; they swore on an enchanted contract when they were inducted into Lady Eir's ranks. The Frost Giants were not a well-endowed race in the area of intelligence, save perhaps, for his fallen brother, Loki, and Thor didn't believe them capable of hatching an elaborate attack using poison, much less to fell a mere mortal. It didn't fit.

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"Muninn will henceforth accompany you anywhere you need to go," Loki's cold, clipped tones carried back to Darcy, who was following him through some sort of elongated secret passage through the palace. "It would not do to have my asset compromised by another bout of solo wanderlust."

"Asset?" She fairly screeched, anger rousing her from the stupor that shock and fear had left her in. "I'm not a house you just won during your Monopoly turn, buddy, and I'll thank you to call me Darcy. No, wait, Lady Darcy is how it is to you, Sir." She sneered at the last word, folding her arms petulantly across her chest as she struggled to navigate the stone passageway. She would never insist anyone else refer to her with the fancy schmancy title, but this prick was giving it his all to make her feel insignificant.

After a moment, her annoyance dissolved. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"You tell me, Lady Darcy," was the curt reply, and she made a nasty face at his back, fancying his lengthy strides sped up in response, making it even more difficult to keep up with the much-taller deity. He'd paused a moment earlier to heal his shoulder, and then led her straight into a honeycomb network of passages. She was probably being led somewhere to be killed, still, she was convinced.

The raven, Muninn, was settled again on her shoulder, wobbling with her stumbles, and the bird's weight was comforting in the face of Loki's presence. Drawing a deep breath, Darcy straightened her shoulders, coming to a stop in the tunnel. "I want some things explained."

"Your life has been spared, mortal girl." Loki slowed after a glance backwards revealed her halted progress, and a scowl crossed his face. Turning, he folded his arms across his chest and faced her in the near-darkness. "What position are you in to make demands?"

"Your bird likes me." That was all she said, one spontaneous sentence, and just stared at him, her bottom lip jutted out in what she likely thought was an adorable pout, designed to make him spill trade secrets.

"The bird you speak of is misguided," Loki muttered dryly. "He enjoys Odin's company, after all."

"Would that be why he led me to the library? To out your little charade? Where's your dad, really?" Darcy's brows rose, and she leaned to one side, putting a hand on her hip and squinting at Loki.

"He is not my-" Loki bit down on his words, reminiscent of a cell-bound conversation he'd had so long ago with his mother. "That is no ordinary bird, if your tiny mind has not noticed. I know not his motives for anything. Now, if you don't start moving, I'll leave you here to rot." He turned without another word and continued down the corridor.

Darcy resumed trudging along behind him, her mind still racing with questions. All she really knew was that someone was apparently after Odin – more specifically, the throne, from what they'd said – and that Loki wasn't dead, and had been pretending to be the ornery dude in question. It couldn't have been too hard, if the prickly exterior Loki had shown both as himself and as Odin was anything at all like the real Allfather. Maybe there was something to the like father, like son saying after all.

"So, that speech," she started, lilting her tone so it sounded childlike and hopefully more innocently inquiring. "That was all you? In tribute to your mom?"

There were several moments of silence, broken only by the thudding of their boot soles on the stone, and she was posed to ask something else, when a quiet "yes" drifted back to her.

Darcy nodded to herself, lacing her fingers together in front of her and popping her stiff hand and wrist muscles. "Is Ian going to be okay?"

Another moment of silence, then - "He is in the best possible hands to ensure so."

That totally wasn't an answer, but likely the best she'd get – magic probably gave Ian better odds against an unknown poison than any technology back on Earth. Darcy blinked rapidly to clear her vision – her eyes were getting foggy in the lack of light. Maybe she was getting that tunnel vision thing that happened when you were driving for long periods of time. She shook her head forcefully, hopping up and down a few times to keep herself alert.

"So, I'm gonna throw some theories out there, and you can say whether they're hot or cold," she offered, her voice echoing weirdly as the pathway veered sharply to the right. They could be anywhere by now, and she rubbed her hands along her arms as the air chilled further. There was no reply, and she continued, despising the silence. "You killed Odin and sealed his body up behind a wall." There was a snort of disbelief from the figure pacing along ahead of her, but no other reaction. Pity, she was pretty proud of her Poe reference pulled out of thin air.

She tried a different tactic. "Okay, you turned him into a bug and let him loose outside." A noise that might have been a grunt of approval sounded from ahead. "Oh you like that, huh? Let's see…He's chained up in the cellar being fed gruel and rainwater?"

"That is slightly more accurate," Loki admitted a moment later, but as she looked in front of her, he had disappeared. A huff of impatience sounded from behind her, and she shrieked as a hand clapped down on her bare shoulder. "You're moving too slowly. We haven't much time before Odin has been gone too long from the feast." He shoved her forward, jarring the raven from her arm with a resounding caw of indignation. Darcy scowled at him, but his eyes were on the passageway ahead. They really were a pretty green.

"Don't tell me we're just headed straight back to the party?" Darcy murmured in horror, eyes darting down to her torn and sullied skirts, a hand moving to her ruined hair.

Loki's eyes raked up and down her dress, a smirk curling one side of his mouth upwards. "It is not uncommon for Asgardian ladies to reappear slightly…ravished after an interlude during one of our feasts," he started, and Darcy's jaw swung open.

"Don't you dare. I just met you and I don't like you very much." The trickster just smiled wider, brightening the orb of light that lit their way as the hallway seemed to slope downwards. Darcy's mutter of "Vikings…Interludes, over my dead body…." was quickly absorbed by the moldering stone bordering her path.

Despite Loki's magical floating lamp setup, Darcy tripped anyways as they started down a crumbling staircase. As she stumbled forward in the dimness, waiting for the sensation of a broken neck, a gauntleted arm was suddenly clamped around her waist to steady her, the brass bracer over the forearm biting into her ribs. She pulled away from Loki's grip and tried a sassy sniff of indignation as she straightened her dress, only succeeding in inhaling several strands of her own hair. The resultant sneeze almost made her fall over anew, and Darcy stomped a boot down impatiently.

"I'm sick of tunnels," she ground out. "Let me out. I need a shower and several hours of hair and makeup repair."

"This is the end of it," Loki murmured, exasperated, gesturing behind her. Darcy turned, spotting a door a few steps further down. "Oh. I have impeccable timing," she declared, trying to save face as she trotted down the last bit of stairway.

It opened into a lavish set of receiving rooms for someone's fancy company, all satin-covered sofas and thick, plush carpets. The color scheme was also very pink and gold. Darcy turned to Loki, a snide remark dying on her lips when she noted a strange look in his eyes as he swung the door shut. She noticed it was disguised on this end by a painting, depicting a woman with lovely bronze hair, seated on a stone bench in a garden and flanked by two small boys on either side. One blonde, one ebony-haired.

"Queen's quarters?" She guessed, nodding when Loki did so, moving swiftly across the chambers to crack the door open. She didn't have much of a chance to say anything else before the man in question was thrown across the room by an impact against the door, the heavy chunk of wood paneling nearly crushing Darcy where she stood.

The intern dodged with a yelp of alarm, peering out from behind a nearby sofa after a moment. "Aw hell, this is awkward. Hey, big guy…"

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Thor had stepped away to talk to Volstagg and Fandral in a corner of the hall once he'd finished speaking with the Jötuns. Odin had still not returned to the feast, and so Jane was left to her own devices, poking with a fork at a hank of unidentified meat and trying to avoid uncomfortable eye contact with Sif. She was failing, for every time she raised her eyes to look for Thor, warm brown met icy blue, the warriors' glare drilling right into her.

Finally, she'd had enough, heaving an exasperated sigh and rising from the table. As she swept her hair out of her face, she noticed a Frost Giantess making her way towards Jane. She was actually not taller than Jane by any more than two feet, petite and diminutive for a Jötun, it seemed, her black hair done in glossy plaits to either side of her head. She did not seem as aggressive as the others in the slightest. As she darted past Jane, she whispered four words, jerking her head towards a doorway behind the high table that Jane hadn't noticed before. "I can help you."

Craning her head around to gauge Thor's location, Jane spotted him far across the room, and he didn't look up to see her wave. The giantess was already across the hall, and only Jane had been told to come…Despite the warnings ringing distantly in her mind, sounding suspiciously like Erik Selvig in a cranky mood, Jane was contemplative. Her mentor himself had retired just before Darcy had left, so no one was around to wag fingers. The scientist made a snap decision in the name of helping unravel the mystery of what exactly was afoot in Asgard, turning and whisking after the blue-skinned creature.

The female Frost Giant passed through the tapestry into a hallway that led to the kitchens, as it turned out, and Jane nearly banged her head against the wall for wondering where it could have led before. Where else would all the various roasted creatures she'd seen tonight come from?

The giantess was waiting in the shadow of a doorway, and beckoned hurriedly to Jane, her ebony plaits swinging with the movement. "I am Angrboða," she murmured in a strange, slow accent. "I know what they plan for you, Jane Foster."

Jane was still a little hazy from all the alcohol herself, taking a moment to interpret Angrboða's accent. "For me?" Her question was answered by a wicked grin from the crimson-eyed giantess, whose chuckle accompanied the sound of hurriedly approaching footsteps, and then everything went black.

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Heimdall was angry, angrier than he could ever recall being. The sentinel was a fearsome sight to behold, his posture menacing as he crossed the Bifrost with steady strides. The Einherjar on duty called out to Asgard's watcher, but he ignored them completely, his Uru sword drawn and at the ready. He disappeared into a side entrance of the palace as the guards watched, confused. If Heimdall had left his post, something was certainly wrong.

And indeed, it was. How could he have missed this?

Earlier he had seen Odin alerted by a guard, but he had missed completely the felling of the other Einherjar, despite his determined focus. Frustrated, Heimdall strained his vision, channeling all clairvoyant power into Asgard's halls. There was murky darkness, a strange fog in the lower halls, and then, clarity.

Loki, the dead mischief god, appeared, pinning Thor's helpless mortal companion Darcy Lewis against a wall. It looked to be in the bowels of the palace, just the two of them, a menacing expression painted on the trickster's face.

Heimdall lost sight of it then, but he had seen enough.

Now he strode through shortcuts in the palace, batting aside tapestries that had not moved for centuries, unknown as the paths they concealed were, to all but a few. He made his way straight towards the fallen queen's chambers, somehow knowing the trickster would be there. As he approached, the door creaked open, revealing a flash of wary green eyes, and then he was upon it, bulldozing into the door in the hopes that he might crush the lying fiend outright and be done with it.

But Loki was nothing if not quick, slithering out of the way as Heimdall broke down the heavy door, unaware that Darcy Lewis was right in its path. At her scream, Heimdall paused in his tracking of Loki about the room, sword raised. "Lady Darcy?"

The girl in question had dodged the heavy door, appearance bedraggled, hair askew and dress filthy, and he wasn't sure what to make of the scene. The mortal summed it up aptly, muttering dryly how awkward the situation was.

Heimdall blinked, amber eyes flitting away from the mortal, assured she was at least still alive, contrary to what his vision had implied, and stepped back towards Loki. But as he moved forward, the mischief-maker rolled his emerald eyes, image dissolving in a glare of green light. The man himself then appeared behind the girl, producing a dagger and holding it aloft lazily, flicking it through his fingers as his other arm clamped tightly across her chest, pulling her close. "Ah ah ah, watchman," he warned in a low drawl, "We wouldn't want Thor's little friend to be permanently damaged as a result of any more recklessness, would we?" With a glance, Loki sent the door back to its original position, perfectly repaired and effectively sealing in their conversation.

Heimdall made to move forward, swinging out a leg to bat aside an Ottoman stool, but Loki quickly brought the dagger to Darcy's throat, tsking loudly. "It really wouldn't do to break any more of my mother's things than you already have, Heimdall," he said simply, and the sentinel halted his movements.

Loki responded with a patronizing smile and a flicking movement that banished the dagger from his grip, his other arm unlocking from around Darcy to instead take her hand. He quickly guided her around the plush sofa, where he lowered her onto a cushion with the utmost grace. The abrupt show of chivalry was believable, unless one knew Loki. Heimdall leaned back on his feet, sword lowered but still gripped tightly.

"Where is my king?" He ground out, watching as the trickster swung back around the sofa to splay his hands across the back, meeting Heimdall's eyes with his trademark sly smile. Darcy, for her part, looked thoroughly baffled, blinking repeatedly and staring at the hand Loki had taken.

"You need not be concerned with Odin," Loki assured Heimdall, lifting a curled hand to his face and making a show of inspecting his nails. "I am his regent for the time being, and if you don't want a fuss and potentially a war on your incompetent hands, I would let the matter rest, so long as we have intergalactic negotiations falling into place. You are sworn to me at the moment."

The remark was a biting one, similar to what Loki had said in his first attempt to take Asgard's throne, although this attempt had clearly succeeded. Heimdall's lip curled up in a snarl. "I swore nothing to you, trickster. You are a dead man, and you should have stayed so. Your brother, he mourns. He sent off a pyre in your name just this morning, and you repay his loyalty and grief with this. The council, Thor, none shall accept this madness."

It was apparently a wrong choice of words, for Loki's eyes rose from his nails with a dark scowl, and suddenly Heimdall was against the far wall, his sword still in the process of falling to the ground. "And you should have been retired long ago," Loki growled, stalking across the room. His power had grown, Heimdall noted with reluctance, tricks and illusion grown into enchanted force that obeyed at the slightest hint of movement in one of Loki's slender fingers.

"I have done nothing to harm Asgard. In fact, as you can see, the realm has thrived under my rule," Loki continued, pacing in front of the pinned guardian. Darcy Lewis' wide blue eyes flitted between both gods, her hands twisting in her lap.

"And you never even knew the difference, you fool. But swear allegiance and an oath of silence now, and you may continue your duties as gatekeeper," Loki ended, pivoting towards Heimdall and fixing his green gaze squarely on the amber one he faced.

"Um, if I might," a voice chimed up from behind the mischief god, and both deities' gazes flicked to the mortal intern, now lounging back against the couch. "You're really bad at sealing alliances," she aimed at Loki, frowning. "Did you not take any classes on politics before you tried to usurp a throne?"

The silver tongue was silent as Loki blinked at her, his menacing stance relaxing. "I succeeded," he ground out. "Now do shut up," he muttered after a moment, turning back to Heimdall, but there was none of the earlier venom in his voice when he spoke to Darcy.

"No, really, I think it'd aid your cause if you maybe mentioned how Odin would probably be dead right now if he'd actually been himself for the past couple months – that doesn't really make sense aloud, does it," Darcy continued, rising from her seated position and breaking her speech to tap a finger to her chin. "Okay forget that part, but is anyone gonna bring up the assassination attempt lil' ol' me thwarted, like, ten seconds ago?"

"I had it well in hand," Loki broke in, expression darkening again, but Darcy was walking towards them, actually pushing an extended palm into Loki's face as her earnest expression met Heimdall's. The gatekeeper was grasping at the threads of a topic that was apparently being revisited from earlier.

"You seem like a really wise and all-powerful dude, disregarding present circumstances," Darcy started, and the watchman was honestly speechless, but paid close attention to her words. "But I've spent years studying this stuff, even if it was in a lowly Midgardian institution," she added with a sneer towards Loki, "And what we need right now is some diplomacy across the board, with each other and not just these ambassadorey dudes handing out in the dining room right now." She was warming to her topic, unwinding her knotted hair from its haggard plait as she spoke, walking in a tight circle. Loki seemed loath to interrupt her at this point as well, his eyes locked on her.

"Obviously I'm out of my element here – I don't even have my bachelor's and I'm in another realm of outer space and stuff," she continued, brows furrowed as her eyes stared unseeing at the floor she paced. "But politics are really all the same. Monarch and subjects, president and supporters, hell, Hitler and his Nazis even, there's a system of trust, and there's a bit of truth in every lie that these guys tell, to get them followers in the first place." Finally, her hair was free from its snarled bindings, and Darcy started finger-combing it, halting her own steps to look at Heimdall again.

Loki finally found his tongue, feigning disinterest as he adjusted the gauntlet covering his right forearm. "Where exactly are you going with this, mortal?"

"I told you, it's Lady Darcy to you," she hissed with a furious glare, shaking her head with an eye-roll and turning back to Heimdall. "Long story short, his bird led me to the library and taught me some magic 101 but then I heard a noise and it was totally faux-din here getting his ass kicked," she summed up. "I tackled the other dude and saved the day, unmasking this dude" – she jerked a thumb at Loki as if he was anyone on the street – "in the process."

The green eyes towering above her were rage-filled slits as Loki stared down at the back of her head, but Darcy was staring at Heimdall as she calmly finished her story.

"There was an attempt on L- Odin's life?" Heimdall confirmed slowly, and Darcy nodded, completely at ease as she now seemed.

"So this guy agreed not to kill me if I'd help uncover the nefarious plot that is undoubtedly at play here," she explained. "At least, I think that's how he'd say it." She pointed at Loki again, who seemed simultaneously both outraged and shocked speechless at how nonchalantly she was treating him. "I never did get much outta Shakespeare."

The trickster apparently decided to hand the reins of the conversation over to the young mortal, sweeping away to lean against the wall across the room in a marvelous show of pouting. Darcy rolled her eyes dramatically, folding her arms and jerking her head in Heimdall's direction. "If he's gonna help us, can you like, unpin him from the wall like he's a boy band poster?"

There was no visible response, but Heimdall felt an immense pressure lift, and he regained his footing in front of Darcy, nodding his thanks to her. The girl grinned charmingly, waving one hand in the direction of the sofa she'd occupied earlier. "Shall we talk?"

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Darcy Lewis really was quite brilliant, Loki had to admit. Well, in his mind, at least, he'd never tell the girl that. She was as in her element discussing negotiations and leadership tactics as the Foster woman was in dissecting nebulas and stars, and it was interesting to watch. More than interesting – riveting. Who would have thought that the diminutive assistant to an even tinier scientist could have so much…substance?

He watched her cheeks grow pink with passion as she discussed what Heimdall should be looking for from the observatory, her hair shimmering in the light as she leaned forward to propose sneaking into the dignitaries' quarters.

Here, Loki had to speak up, amusement soaking his words. "You propose diplomacy by sneaking into our supposed allies' rooms to rifle through their possessions whilst they drink mead in my halls, unawares?"

Darcy's eyes wagged back and forth, brows raising as she mimed contemplation. "Yuuupp, that pretty much sums it up."

Loki broke into a true smile at that, clicking his tongue for Muninn to come to him. The raven landed on his shoulder with an affectionate croak, Loki's fingers stroking the shining feathers absentmindedly as his own mind raced with a plan.

All of a sudden, Heimdall gasped quietly, his eyes clamping shut. They reopened just as quickly, their amber hues suddenly brighter, somehow. "Jane Foster," he intoned with a groan of dismay. "They have taken her."

Darcy let out an eloquent, panicked stream of elaborate Midgardian curses that Loki would pay to hear an encore of, but not now. Now, Odin had to address his subjects.

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"And so, my palace is your palace, for the varying remainders of your stays here. I hope they are each long and pleasant," Odin finished, raising Gungnir to wave it towards the hall doors, which opened instantly. That was the cue for dozens and dozens of varyingly intoxicated Muspels, Vanites, Asgardians, and Jötuns alike to all begin a flood towards the doors.

Unfortunately, their drunk steps were taking far too long, and Loki debated an exodus spell for a long moment, before Thor grabbed his attention. The thunder god was weaving through the crowd, moving against its flow until he reached the empty high table. "Father, I must speak with you," he said hurriedly, panic choking his words.

"Not now," Odin hissed, feigning a small and nod as Surtur gave one last nod from the doorway of the hall.

The bloody oaf. Darcy was awaiting instructions in the throne room, and he really had no time to deal with Thor. Maybe the fool should join his father for a couple hours, and cool down. Loki sighed with gusto in Odin's voice, sinking into his chair and gesturing at one for Thor to take.

"I cannot find Jane," Thor started immediately, and Loki resisted an eye roll. Little did his brother know that he was well informed on the state of distress the damsel was in. Heimdall's vision was sharper after an enhancing spell Loki had placed on him, at Darcy's cajoling, but Jane's location was not yet triangulated. They knew only that she had been taken, and on Angrboða's cue.

"Are you certain she has not merely returned to her room, fatigued from tonight's festivities?" Odin questioned lightly, casually tipping his goblet towards himself to see if any wine was left in it. Thor's meaty fist suddenly slammed onto the table's surface, and Odin's eye narrowed at him.

"Father, I fear she may have been taken, by those who harmed Ian."

It was going to be a long Lithasblot celebration, and not for pleasant reasons.

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Finally, Thor was dismissed, calmed only minutely by the promise Odin delivered of sending a patrol of Einherjar to scour the palace for the Foster woman.

Loki vented his frustrations with the blonde god on the throne room doors, slamming them open, only to stop short at the sight of Darcy Lewis on his throne. Something in him twisted strangely at the sight of the mortal girl, slung casually across the ornate seat like she owned it, and he took a deep breath before continuing forward.

Darcy's legs hung off one end, booted feet crossed and jogging up and down as she waited for him. One elbow was on the chair's armrest, propping up her head with a hand. The other moved to cover a yawn as her eyes moved sleepily to watch his progress across the room.

"'Bout time," she slurred, stirring herself into a proper sitting position, then promptly pulling her feet up to her chest. He was almost regretful that the long skirts of her ball gown protected her modesty.

"I had courtly matters to attend to," he bit out, vanishing from sight only to reappear behind the throne. She squeaked as his lips brushed her ear, speaking succinctly. "Get. Off. My. Throne."

"Not yours," she grumbled petulantly, batting him away like he was a fly. The audacity- But she obeyed a moment later, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she brought a lock of hair to her nose.

"Ugh, I'm gross," she complained.

"If the most pressing matter on your pathetic mind at the moment is hygiene, I have much to worry about," Loki declared, seating himself on the throne. "You've taken this remarkably well, for a human," he added, managing not to sneer towards the end.

"Yeah, well, I'm still probably fifty percent convinced this is a massive hallucination stemming from me ingesting intergalactic shrooms or something, so…" She waggled the handful of hair at him, shrugging.

"Where is Heimdall?" Loki asked tiredly, looking around as if the gatekeeper might appear at any moment with an army to topple the trickster's reign.

"The big guy's gone back to his post, I think," Darcy said, yawning out the last word. "He seems on board to keep watch while we sneak around. He'll only be in contact if something's up."

Fine, Loki thought. The less contact with Heimdall and his holier-than-thou attitude, the better. As long as he kept his mouth shut.

"So, I think I've stayed pretty calm despite the fact my boss and best friend was kidnapped earlier," Darcy started, her voice abruptly wavering. "Can you promise me Jane's gonna be safe?"

"You know I cannot." Was all he said, and her head drooped towards her chest as he caught a quiet sniffle. Oh, great. He'd been waiting for the breakdown all evening, but Darcy only wiped at her face, meeting his gaze with a defiantly-tilted chin.

"If anything happens to her, I will make sure you're prosecuted for this, or however the judicial system here works," she said hotly. "Burning at the stake, weighed down with stones and chucked into the river, I don't care. If my friends are being hurt because you needed to be the big kid on the playground, you're gonna pay for it, alliance or no alliance." She turned abruptly on her heel, hiking up a fistful of skirts and pounding across the chamber.

When the door had slammed hollowly behind her, Loki was suddenly very aware how quiet a room was when Darcy Lewis wasn't in it, in more than an audible sense.

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Jane awoke with cold stone pressing into her back, her head pounding. She sat up slowly, a palm pressing to her temple as she evaluated her surroundings. Asgard's hospitality sure had changed since her last visit, she thought, noting the once-brightly lit cells of the dungeons were distinctly more medieval. Wall sconces in the main passageway were all that illuminated the cell she was in, the blank white walls of before now replaced with dark, moldy stone. There was no window in the square cell, save for the grated doorway whose bars seemed to sizzle with some imprisonment spell.

"Hello?" She tried, her voice hoarse and more reminiscent of a frog's croak than her own tones.

Jane tried fervently to remember the last thing to happen to her – she'd…She'd tried to get information from that Jötun girl, Angrboða! And then…nothing.

A wet cough from what must have been her neighboring cell distracted her from the pounding in her head, and she tried again. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

She thought she heard the breath of her neighbor hitch, as if in surprise. "Jane Foster?"

Her blood ran cold as she identified the voice, even disfigured as it was by illness and fatigue. "Odin?"

"You remember me," replied the voice dryly, ending in a cough.

How could she forget being compared to a goat? Jane wondered, then fear seized her thoughts. "Wait. If you're in here, who's out there?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. -Bon


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo guys. Really can't describe the amazingness in my review inbox right now, both here and on FFN where I dual-post. It means so much. That being said, the writing spark is sputtering right now, and I'm not feeling it much. I'm very busy, and that's contributing heavily, as well as the other serial I've got going. I'm juggling quite a lot, but as always, I aim to please, and am trying for longer updates when they do happen. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Enjoy.

"The girl's going to attempt to murder me with her own bare hands, I've no doubt," Loki mused aloud, raking his fingers through his hair, his only audience the scornful company of Huginn, who was high in the rafters of the aviary. The raven did not deign to respond with a single caw. The trickster's mind was racing, Heimdall's remarks about Thor's mourning of him chasing memories of Darcy Lewis' wide blue eyes admonishing him, all of it shadowed by the image of a cloaked figure coming at him.

As if on cue, the door swung open, a wintry breeze blowing in as the slight form of Angrboða entered the aviary, cutting a little curtsy with a sardonic smile, her fur cloak rustling against the stone. "Everything is in place," she started, but Loki's attention was on the raven in the rafters, a scowl creasing his expression.

"This one will likely out me as well," he muttered distractedly, giving Huginn a final glare before turning to Angrboða, folding his arms across his chest expectantly. "But I was damned to the depths long ago, so what is the point in attempting redemption now?" He was talking aloud as if to himself, and Angrboða wondered if perhaps the solitude and the keeping of his own counsel had driven him mad – but then again, Loki had always teetered towards the shallow end of sanity.

"As I said," Angrboða said in clipped tones, "it's done." Loki finally met her eyes, his green ones alight with something unidentifiable. "Foster is safely stowed?"

"Yes, like a sack of grain placed in the larder for winter's arrival," the frost giantess replied dryly. "This favor will count us even, trickster."

"Oh, come Angrboða, you've always been fond of me, admit it," Loki crooned, whisking closer and circling her, a hand lifting to swipe gently across her dusky cheek.

"I was fond of your mother, and moonlit rides on Sleipnir. You were something to hold onto so I wouldn't fall off his back! I'd hardly call it a passing fancy," the giantess maintained, pivoting to keep him in sight. One could never be too careful with those who lived and breathed deception. "In any case, the deed is done, the little scientist set aside like the expensive silverware until we have use for her."

"Don't speak so crudely, Angrboða," Loki murmured, pausing by a window to watch proceedings outside. It was dawn, the day after, and he was more wary than ever of his surroundings. "It's not as if we've locked her in the dungeons, I only mean to keep my brother's toy out of harm's way until we ascertain what is happening here." Angrboða's face had gone very still, her eyes locked on the floor.

"…We haven't locked her in the dungeons, have we?" Loki ventured, craning his head to look into her eyes. Angrboða coughed lightly. "You did not exactly have a guest room prepared for those who have been inducted into protective custody," she managed defensively, and Loki's eyes rose to the ceiling.

"May the Norns have mercy," he muttered. "Are there any occupied cells near hers?"

"There was a ragged hermit in the neighboring one, but that was all," the frost giantess replied, edging towards the door, and Loki's eyes suddenly looked like they would set her aflame any moment. She wouldn't put it past his abilities, either, her hands unconsciously raising in a defensive movement.

"I suppose I have my own stupidity to thank," Loki said flatly, waving a hand in dismissal. Angrboða darted out the door, slamming the oaken thing as if it would keep Loki and his frustration locked away. Moving quickly back towards the frost giant quarters and hoping she hadn't been missed, the giantess decided she had never more regretted that fling with the trickster so many centuries ago that had left her with such a desire to please him.

The reigning Allfather of Asgard stormed out of the aviary shortly after, magicking Odin's face over his own, and a heavy cloak over his shoulders. Visiting hours had started.

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Darcy was standing at the window of her room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring hard at the cloaked figure slipping through the still-dark grounds. She couldn't sleep, not with her boss and friend abducted and possibly hurt, not with the intern she was responsible for in a magically-induced coma in the hospital ward of a strange realm, not with the pressure of a clandestine alliance with an alien criminal on her shoulders. And someone was wandering around who didn't want to be seen, someone sporting a nonetheless tell-tale scepter, the idiot; she watched a moment longer, noting where they headed, withdrawing a hand from around herself to drum fingertips on the stone windowsill.

"I don't even get paid, you know," she huffed to herself, a cheerful caw answering her. Turning with a slight smile, Darcy held out a pale hand, the raven fluttering to her arm almost immediately. She was getting really fond of the bird; he was tidier company than Thor, less chatty than Ian, less bossy than Jane. An abrupt sniffle escaped her, and she briskly rubbed the back of her spare hand across her nose. "What did I do to deserve all this? Sworn to secrecy on pain of death in the middle of space meets Harry Potter and recruited to solve an alien assassination attempt mystery, I don't even know. I should write novels."

The raven only nuzzled against her arm in response, and Darcy sighed. Earlier, she had checked in on Erik, who'd been sleeping off the inevitably-massive hangover that was symptom of an Asgardian celebration; he'd been increasingly withdrawn since their arrival, but it was keeping him out of harm's way, and since the danger of just walking down the halls had been amped drastically, Darcy was all for him taking nap after nap.

"Sooner it's all solved and dealt with, the sooner I can return to exams and navigating London's crazy side streets in a beat-up Volvo." She moved towards her bed, snatching up a cloak her maid, Finna, had left her earlier. Wearing jeans and a Henley under it felt mildly stupid, but it was warm, and hid her outfit and face well. Throwing the navy-blue velvet around herself, Darcy held a hand aloft for the bird to take flight, gesturing for it to lead the way.

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"You said it would be simple," grated Hagen's cold tones, a grimace pulling at the giant's features as he paced the tight confines of the quarters he'd been assigned. The target of his frustrations was a small basin filled with a viscous liquid, shimmering with the image of a cloaked figure. "The girl would be removed, and then the Allfather and we would win."

"Calm yourself," came the dry, almost robotic tones of his hidden ally. "On the first charge, it was your own men who failed to deliver the toxic enchantments in an effective manner. My visions are not detailed stories, Jotun, they are guidelines, and they did not show any hindrance. That was for you to traverse."

Hagen whirled to face the basin, face alight with fury and crimson eyes squinted, but the cloaked figure held up a hand, a flash of gold hinting at the armor underneath the draped garment. "All is not lost, my chilly friend. We have merely had to make…adjustments, to the plan, in light of the fact that all is not as it seemed."

The leader of the Frost Giants cocked his head to the side. "Foster is now missing. My people assure me it was not our doing, and the thunder god suspects something. Odinson will not rest until his puny brain unravels what is at hand, or his hammer smashes it. We must move quickly. Adjust faster."

"Speed is, unfortunately, not one of my strong suits, you fool," the cloaked figure spat bitterly, its voice further distorted by the magical fluid it was communicating through. "I leave that to your men. And I have waited so long for this, longer than you have lived among your Jötun hills. Do not speak to me of your misguided impatience in the face of a plan I have spent centuries composing."

Hagen, admonished, fell silent, twitching fingers adjusting the furred cape thrown across his shoulders. "What would you have me do?" He asked quietly, the picture of sudden humility.

"The girl is still a high priority. The Lady Lewis, not the silly little scientist. She is far too…aware of her surroundings, but camouflages it well with her obnoxious mannerisms. She must be dealt with. Laufeyson is distracted at the moment, and the gatekeeper will once again have completely adequate hindsight."

Hagen was taken aback. "Laufeyson?"

"Did I stutter, Jötun? Yes, Laufeyson. He secretly usurped the throne at some point, likely when the dark elves destroyed Asgard's infrastructure. He thrives in the chaos, and the damned forces of Malekith gave Loki the exact momentum he needed while the counsel was blinded," the bland tones continued, though a tint of bitterness was seeping into the words. "Do not act so surprised. Nothing is ever as it seems with him, and now we must not only remove him, but the true Odin, and likely the thunder god as well. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Master," Hagen murmured, shooting a glance around him and moving closer, face almost submerging in the enchanted substance as his orders were relayed.

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It was kind of cool having an all-knowing raven as a sidekick, Darcy thought, wondering idly if she'd be able to take him home with her. He was probably killer as a test aide. It was still very early, most hallway torches died down to near embers, and she kept tripping, thanking the heavens she was wearing sneakers. If she'd been wearing those heeled boots, she'd have broken a vital bone or two by now.

"I have a bad feeling about this," she muttered lowly, spotting the doorway she'd seen someone duck into earlier. Taking a deep breath, she held her head high, summoning courage as she stepped down onto a flight of stone stairs. "Just like a wine cellar," she thought, pretending this was a foray into her rich friend Megan's basement for a fine Bordeaux, instead of an apparent trek into the dungeons of an alien realm. The raven skipped along, flapping shortly from one torch sconce to the next. Her fears were realized the further she went, the staircase angling left, then right, finally leaving her in a wide hallway bordered with something that looked like cells. Brightly-illuminated, with white interiors blank of much in the way of furniture, she noted how freakin' boring it must be to be an enemy of the state in Asgard. Most were empty, as it was apparently a pretty peaceful era as Asgardian times went – probably because Thor wasn't around stepping on different realms' toes with his hammer – but a few contained some rough-looking goblin-like creatures that looked like they'd walked from Isengard, and something vaguely humanoid that a) needed pants and b) could stand to lose about a thousand pounds.

Keeping the hood pulled up, Darcy tried to move quickly through, skimming the cells for whomever had preceded her into the dungeon of doom. She saw no one, coming to a stop at a heavy iron door at the end. Her brows furrowed when she saw no guards anywhere – incapacitated? Dismissed for a coffee break? She had no way of knowing…Oh, and her handy raven pal had disappeared to. She tried a hushed whisper of the bird in question's name, but it was nowhere.

Biting down on her bottom lip, Darcy reached out tentative fingers to try the hefty-looking door, blinking when it opened without protest. Go big or go home, right? Jane was missing, after all.

It was her lucky day, or perhaps unlucky, as a thumping noise sounded from the passageway behind the opened door. Slipping inside for better or worse, Darcy lowered the hood for maximum visibility, hiking up the cloak's hem as she traversed another set of stairs, distinctly more mildew and slimy than the latter.

"Bleck," she exclaimed, putting out a hand to steady herself against the close walls, her palm coming away covered in a dark green paste. Hopefully contact wasn't poisonous, and she smeared the substance off on her cloak before continuing down to where the floor leveled out again.

She must be in the dungeons of the dungeons of the dungeons. Altogether a different scene greeted her down here, a spooky medieval atmosphere much less inviting than the cozy cells upstairs, if that's what those could be called. Everything was dark stone, slime-covered, torches lining the wall mostly unlit, and sparingly spaced out. Somewhere water was dripping, and that explained the presence of the algae-like slime she'd used as hand lotion a moment before.

Darcy started forward, looking for any signs of life in these cells. Spiked metal grids covered the entryways, and a dull buzzing sound filled the air, much like when you were near an active power pole. Stepping forward, she examined the bars more closely, poking a finger out to touch them-

"I wouldn't do that," croaked a weary voice, and her hand shot back immediately into the folds of her cloak, Darcy whipping around at the words. "Who-" Simultaneously, another voice piped up in the corridor- "Darcy?"

"J…jane?" Darcy questioned, squinting in the dim light that a struggling torch supplied. She moved closer to the cells on the opposite side of the corridor, stopping short when the inhabitant of the first waved a tiny hand at her. "Oh my god are you okay?!I"

"Darcy, what are you doing here? I don't think it's safe-" Jane started, but a harsh cough from the cell next to hers cut her off, the wet sound making Darcy cringe.

"Who's in here with you?" Darcy questioned aloud, even as she crept into view of the next cell. All she could make out was a bundle of rags tossed into a corner, but the rags took shape as the being summoned the strength to stand and move closer. An old man was revealed, shredded bits of cloth clutched around him for warmth, his feet looking bare and blue with cold from what she could see. He moved, shadows adjusting themselves across his face, revealing a gaping hole where his right eye ought to be, the wound looking somehow unhealed after what had to have been centuries, if anything she'd read had been accurate.

"Odin." She said as a statement, no question in her tone, and the old hermit nodded, gasps for breath all that she could hear for a moment.

"You have me at an advantage," he managed, leaning against the wall near the metal spikes that allowed a glimpse into the hallway, symbolizing both incarceration and freedom at the same time. "I do not know your name, mortal."

"You know I'm mortal, do you care about anything more than that?" Darcy spat, abruptly annoyed with the victim of Loki's she now faced. "You called Jane a goat."

"That seems to be the sole remark of mine that has ever been heeded by her, and now you," Odin replied with a wheezy laugh. He really didn't sound good – was there a barrier in place barring magical metabolisms in here or something?

"Shouldn't have compared a brilliant Midgardian scientist to a barnyard animal," Darcy maintained with a huff, folding her arms across herself and trying not to shiver. It was freezing in here, not at all conducive to good health.

"Darcy, you've got to go-" Jane started, before a hand was clamping heavily over Darcy's mouth, muffling her shriek, and an arm locked across her abdomen like a vice grip. Her eyes were already rolling in unamused recognition of the elaborate array of rings cutting into her cheeks, her captor pulling her across the hall to shove her against the blank stone wall between two cells. Thankfully, the magical electrical fence or whatever was apparently dormant over here.

"We have got to stop meeting like this," she managed when the arm preventing her from breathing fell away, the hand preventing her speech following suit. "And get rid of those nasty rings if you're going to manhandle me into compliance, that icky snake one is gonna split my lip or something." She rubbed the back of her hand across her face, grimacing to prove her point.

Loki paid her no mind, his fury making it difficult to speak. He tried so hard to concoct these plans, to help himself, Asgard, mostly himself but Asgard by extension, to rid the realm of an ornery tyrant – but then a little mortal came along and started to systematically tear apart every brick he had laid. Folding hands trembling with rage across his chest, he leveled a glare at Darcy Lewis. "What are you doing down here?"

"I think a better question is what is Jane doing down her, and your Dad, and why are you acting so unconcerned? If Jane's next to Odin, who you-" Darcy's blue gaze clouded, eyes lowering in thought, and then her eyes narrowed in realization. She pinned him with a glare, shoving herself off from the wall and pushing as hard as she could against Loki's chest. "What have you done?"

The deity flicked a wrist, the door upstairs slamming shut and a silencing spell covering the area simultaneously. This wouldn't end well. "I'm going to assume you're not referring to the obvious incarceration of my supposed "father". Miss Foster is down here for her protection," Loki started stiffly, Darcy's flailing fists having no effect.

"Bullshit," the intern raged, swinging away from Loki to jab a finger in Odin's direction. "Your magically-immune-systemed father is like, dying of space-pneumonia because it's so awful down here, and you've got my eighty-pound human boss locked in the exact same conditions? Sorry Jane," she cut over to the scientist "I know you eat on the regular and stuff, you're just, you know, smallish-" Darcy's eyes shot back to Loki's, her jaw locked in indignation.

"You think you can just pull people off the Asgardian streets and tuck them away when they inconvenience your diabolical master plans?!" She was shrieking now, and Loki's eyes cut to either side, eager for escape but knowing he had to deal with this, or his enemies would.

"Loki is…?" Jane's baffled question was a quiet but effective interruption, all eyes turning to the petite astrophysicist as she crept as close as she could to the door of her cell. "Would anyone mind maybe explaining? And getting me a bottle of water? And releasing me? Priority of those things is open for interpretation-"

"Silence." Loki snapped, moving to stare Darcy down, the crown of her head more than a foot below his. "You will not give me orders, you will not tell me how to run my affairs. Your life is spared because you represented some sort of usefulness, but perhaps I was misguided in that assumption. You are loud, rash, and far too inquisitive for your own good to survive for long in the midst of what troubles Asgard. I should kill you on the spot, or send you to Heimdall for expulsion from the realm." Loki was done, finished with acting on the whims of the short mortal girl, and she needed to know her place.

"You won't send me away," Darcy challenged, propping herself up on her toes. "You need me."

Loki's eyes narrowed, but he backed up a half-step, making Darcy grin in victory. "Admit it."

"I need no one except an enemy to fight," he hissed, "And there is apparently one within my halls. I have bigger fish to fry, as you mortals say, than you and your trifling worries, Lady Darcy."

A soft caw interrupted them, and Darcy and Loki turned as one to see Muninn the raven hobble into view, on foot. On foot…? The bird was moving unsteadily across the floor, and Darcy squealed out a curse before darting forward to meet the bird as it toppled to the side, cradling it in her arms.

It was freezing, several ebony feathers glazed over as if…frozen, and bits of a snowy substance coated its face and beak. Darcy's horrified gaze met Loki's, who pivoted in a circle, drawing a dagger just as a figure came barreling towards him from the shadows deeper in the corridor.

Darcy yelped in alarm, darting towards Jane's cell to get out of the way of the skirmish. Then she noticed the lukewarm, sticky substance coating her hand, and the raven's stilling movements. "No, no no," she uttered, tears already filling her eyes and clogging her throat. "What, what do I do?"

She skirted past Jane's cell, pressing up against the barrier guarding Odin. "How do I help your bird?!"

The aged god had sunk down on a bench near his cell door, eyes on the fight and expression somber, but he roused slightly at her words. "That is Muninn."

"Yes, yes it's Money, he's hurt!" Darcy cried desperately, adjusting the wounded raven to cradle it in the crook of one arm while the other flailed in the air. This would happen to her, playing vet in the middle of a battle in the dungeons of Asgard. Sometimes her life was like Grey's Anatomy meets Dungeons and Dragons, and she wasn't sure that was a good thing, especially when her tears were thawing the frostbitten wounds of her newfound friend.

"I need Gungnir." Odin replied simply, and Darcy turned to evaluate the fight she'd ignored after seeing the bird was hurt.

Loki was fighting a Frost Giant, by the looks of it, the other creature's stature dwarfing even Loki's lanky frame. He'd cast off his cloak, leaving it flat upon the ground, and was making quick swipes at the Frost Giant with a dagger. The Jötun was slower, but clearly stronger, catching Loki in the sides with several backhanded blows. But in the process, he'd maneuvered it into a slightly advantageous position-

With no time to spare, Darcy pulled off her own cloak, bundling the injured raven in it and darting into the fray. Glad she was wearing jeans and a casual top and no stupid voluminous skirts, Darcy weaved between the frost giant's legs, her thoughts only on saving the raven. Quickly, she grabbed the edges of Loki's discarded cloak; the Jötun was standing squarely atop the garment, and Darcy gave it a tug with all her might, distracting the giant into turning to look down at her. In the process, its balance was compromised, and her meager strength succeeded in toppling the icy being to the ground, giving Loki the literal upper hand.

Gungnir was tossed off to the side, and Darcy took the chance to snatch it up while Loki delivered a hopefully-fatal blow to the Jötun. She made it back to Odin's cell, and at his snapped command, blindly jabbed the scepter into the prison's barrier. Something snapped and crackled, and a moment later the buzzing noise was gone, the entryway to the cell smoking.

The scepter was wrenched from her hands, Odin passing her to kneel down by the raven, who was cawing weakly in a way that tore at Darcy's heart. She was so glad the true Allfather hadn't chosen now for a lecture on the Loki situation. Hearing the sounds of the scuffle behind her diminish, she collapsed to her knees beside the injured bird, tears dripping as she stared at it, willing it to be okay. Jane was forgotten for the moment, the scientist safe within her cell for the time being.

Then an outraged roar echoed in the chamber, and Odin, tending to the raven with a few murmured words and some pretty lights emanating from the scepter, was thrown unceremoniously backwards by a hand gesture from Loki.

"No," Darcy started, lurching to her feet and moving to cover the true Allfather's weakened form. "Loki, Muninn is hurt!"

The trickster paused, trying to remember how many times she'd called him by his name, her voice dispersing the rage misting his eyesight at Odin's appearance, free from his cell. He took a step backward, deciding to give himself time to calm down. Swiveling, he murmured an incantation over the body of the frost giant, which immediately burst into flame, dissolving in less than a minute. The only thing left then was Loki's dagger, which fell to the floor with a too-loud clatter in the now-hushed dungeon passage. He bent to retrieve it, his movements slow and deliberate, while he listened to Darcy assist Odin in healing the raven he'd known since childhood.

They didn't die, those things, not easily, at least; there was some talk of them being channeled into Odin's life force, only one reason of many why the old man was still alive. Frigga had first introduced him to the bird, coaxing it from Odin's shoulder with a piece of bread and bringing it and Loki to her private gardens to bond. Ebony wings flashing in the sunlight, whiffs of Frigga's rosy perfume – all that remained of memories from those sessions, and the wounded bird cradled in Darcy Lewis' arms was all that physically remained.

Loki moved forward, slowly, as if in a dream, eyes intent on the black form whose blood had stained the olive green fabric of the henley Darcy wore. Odin was hunched over, the odd cough interrupting his murmurings, but as Loki reached Darcy's side, the old man fell back onto his haunches, giving a tired nod. The bird started to struggle in Darcy's grip, cawing almost petulantly, and Darcy gave a gurgly laugh through her tears.

And then, a lot happened at once. Loki lunged back towards Odin, wrenching Gungnir from his grip and slamming him back into his cell, where he fell to the floor. Darcy leapt up to stop Loki and assist Odin, but Loki grabbed her around the middle, physically wrestling her away from the cell as a wave from Gungnir re-sealed the doorway.

Darcy's snarls of protestation echoed in the hallway, even as she twisted and pried at Loki's grip. He towed her relentlessly towards the exit that led back upstairs, finally setting her on the first step and leaning in close, close enough to catch the flowery scent of her hair and to catch how the buttons on her top strained against her chest. His eyes flicked up to lock onto the wall behind her as his lips stopped an inch from her ear. "Do not undermine me again. Do not follow every single cloaked being you see. Do not try to come here again. And for the Norns' sake, do not put my raven in harm's way like that again. Do you understand me, Darcy Lewis?"

His words were quiet, silky, and Darcy was suddenly afraid. She dared to swallow, nodding, remaining in place as Loki flitted away, calling the rapidly-recovering raven to perch on his shoulder and examining the binding spells on Odin's cell. Apparently satisfied, he then turned to the next cell, where Jane Foster stood wide-eyed, absorbing everything she'd just witnessed.

"You died," she managed. "I…I mourned you, with Thor. Yesterday."

"So I hear," Loki replied dryly. "My pride hesitates to do this but I must apologize, Miss Foster. You were merely meant to be retrieved for your own safety, but it appears there was a miscommunication in the area of accommodations."

"Oh, I was meant to be in a five-star tower in the ramparts with a killer view?" Jane's eyebrow was cocked, and she folded her arms across her chest as she scoffed at Loki. "You kidnapped me."

"Orchestrated it," Loki corrected airily, stepping back and analyzing the spells Angrboða had used on the cell, slightly different from the kind he'd used for Odin. With a wave of his hand in a downward formation that resembled a letter Z, something fizzled and shorted out, the gate to Jane's cell opening cleanly as the magical light on its bars died. "Now, if you'll come with me and Lady Darcy, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that satisfactorily sees to your safety while you are here in Asgard."

"Why not just send us home?" Jane ventured, as she stepped outside of the cell, looking uncertainly back at the miserable Odin in his own cell.

"Because your abrupt absence, the mortal armcandy of my dear brother being whisked through the Bifrost, would signify that we know something is amiss," Loki said as if he were speaking to a child. Jane stiffened at his wording, but as he stretched out an arm to indicate she should go first, she complied, silently. As if he felt further explanation was needed, Loki continued. "I am endeavoring to ensure neither of you meet the fate your friend Ian has, but you are not making it easy." The raven cocked its head in Darcy's direction; she really hoped it wasn't regretting its liking of her.

"Why go so far to protect us?" Jane asked, as they started up the stairs, gathering up the tattered skirts of her evening gown from the day before. "Thought you hated mortals."

"I admired your feistiness when you arrived bearing the Ether, Lady Jane," came Loki's quiet reply, trailing up the stairs from behind Jane and Darcy. "And did I not protect you adequately in Svartalfheim? Give up my life for Thor?" He now sounded anything but serious, and yet Darcy could tell he was.

"Alright, I confess, I find your conversation rather titillating at times, Miss Foster." Jane didn't respond, Darcy whipping her head back to raise a brow at the last remark, but Loki merely curled a lip in a sneer at the intern. "Intellect is so refreshing amongst the company I tend to keep here."

Darcy opened her mouth to respond nastily in kind, but instead bumped into Jane, who was cautiously easing open the door Darcy had entered through. Loki was suddenly between them, steering Darcy firmly but gently to the side and proceeding through the doorway first.

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Naturally, a hangover could only be nursed by encouraging the onset of another, or so Volstagg believed, already steadily plowing his way through a trio of tankards filled to the brim with mead. Fandral was watching him across the table, hair askew and eyes blurry with sleep, and if Volstagg wasn't mistaken, the shoulder of his tunic torn nearly completely off.

"Wild night, eh Fandral?" the jolly warrior questioned, filling his mouth with a hank of wild boar as soon as he was done speaking, for one must be economical with movement of the mouth if not chewing. The swashbuckler responded with a groan and a knowing grin, swiping several strands of golden hair off his face as he raised a goblet of watered-down wine to his lips.

"Not as wild, it appears, as Thor's," Fandral managed after wetting his parched throat, nodding to their friend, who was seated next to Volstagg looking as if he hadn't slept a wink. Expression morose, he wasn't even touching the food in front of him, and an affronted Volstagg was taking all of it bit by bit and ingesting it himself. "Whatever is the matter?" He managed between gulps and swigs, and Thor just shrugged.

A moment later, though, he perked up considerably as Darcy Lewis whisked into the room, a servant girl of some sort by her side. She headed straight for the table, snatching up several Asgardian breakfast pastry delicacies, bidding them all a cheery good morning, and then heading straight out of the room again. Once she was out of sight, Thor, who had half-risen out of his chair, fully vacated it, running after the mortal girl, who was now whistling.

Fandral and Volstagg were left to stare at each other. "I wonder if we perhaps should have…refrained from…" Fandral started. "Inviting them," Volstagg said, cramming something resembling a whole bagel into his mouth. "Not for character reasons," Fandral hastened to add. "But there is strangeness at work," Volstagg confirmed, emptying another tankard. "Exactly," the slighter warrior declared, and the two looked as one towards the door Thor had just left through.

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Thor caught up to Darcy in the hallway, who turned to her servant and hurriedly shooed her on down the hallway. "Chamber reassignment," Darcy explained, waving airily in the direction the other girl was heading. "She's got to get it ready and all," she added on, stumbling over her words in her attempt to stall him.

Thor blinked down at Darcy. "Have you heard from Jane?" He asked urgently, hands moving to Darcy's shoulders. She straightened, peering up at him. "Uh, yeah. Come on, she's fine but we gotta talk."

When they arrived at Darcy's supposed new chambers, there was now no maidservant to be seen, only Jane, curled up with her knees to her chest, sitting on the bed. Thor moved right to her, sweeping her into his arms and appraising her for any damage. Thankfully, she'd changed into some leggings and a sweater of Darcy's after the Asgardian equivalent of a shower, the shredded evening gown likely burned, and now she patted at Thor's biceps soothingly. "I'm okay. But we are all in danger."

Darcy, meanwhile, was nonchalantly edging around the room, trying to make sure Loki wasn't hidden in any corners, or the closet, or hanging from the windowsill and spying on them. He'd been needed to remove the illusion that made Jane appear as a servant, but he also could not be seen by Thor – they weren't ready for Loki's presence to be known by anyone else. Jane had barely been persuaded to keep the secret from Thor, but when assured it would protect all those involved, she'd agreed. They'd checked in on Erik earlier, to show him Jane was alright, but he had been pretty loopy from just taking his prescriptions, and just nodded a lot until they left. Poor guy wasn't likely gonna make it to the feast tonight.

Odin was still locked in his cell, something Darcy was extremely perturbed by, but she now doubted she could get anywhere near those cells, much less find the door unlocked again. And again, she had been targeted. That chilling knowledge was the elephant in the room as the trio had left Odin to seek new quarters for Darcy, Jane under strict instructions to stay in the rooms at all times. Darcy was only allowed to leave if accompanied by Thor, one of his close company, or Loki – the raven, if all else failed, but Loki was loath to leave Muninn to the consequences of proximity to Darcy Lewis, wanted mortal #1.

Twice now, an attack on Darcy; Loki had scanned the area when he'd descended to the dungeons to check on Odin and Jane, and the frost giant must have entered when the trickster was distracted, wrangling Darcy's indignation into submission. The first had been the demonized pear that had felled Ian, and Darcy was now not only afraid to eat much of anything, but to walk anywhere, either. She didn't like it. She wanted to leave and rejoin the familiar atmosphere of Jane's Mom's condo and not deal with any of the political drama this realm had fished out for itself, knowledgeable as she had proved, though. Loki could suck on that.

The intern in question shivered, closing the open window and wrinkling her nose at Jane and Thor's open affection towards each other as Jane explained her instructions from Odin. Good ol' Odin, the scapegoat for anything requiring exact compliance without questions asked. When Thor and Jane's mouths hadn't separated after three whole minutes, Darcy gave up, settling in with her laptop. There was another feast tonight, one she would have to be ready for, but in the meantime, she could go through…Oh, that. As she flipped open the laptop, the last program it had been running flashed across the screen – the pictures of the false Odin. She saved everything to a special folder, then closed it all down, opting instead to draft several blog posts while she had no wifi reception.

Tonight was a big night – she'd have to go foraging around in the rooms of the Jötuns and Muspels, under Heimdall's watchful eye, all while the culprits in question were assumedly gorging themselves at the secondary honorary feast. Loki would have to preside over it, and the thought dampened her spirits slightly – only because he proved slightly helpful when large, literally over-bearing creatures from other worlds pounced and tried to kill her. Muninn was still with Loki, perhaps recuperating a little more with the help of his magic – she really was comforted by the bird, and hated the thought that she'd brought it into harm's way.

Heaving a sigh, Darcy shoved her laptop to the side, curling up on the chaise lounge to catch a nap; she'd gotten perhaps two hours of sleep that night, worrying about Jane, and she just simply could not with the world for any longer. The soft murmurings of Thane, as she called them often, aloud, lulled her into a light slumber.

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All the while, the Jötuns and their collaborators were moving their next pawn into position on the chess board that Asgard had become overnight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Figured out the climax arc of this story, and it's a little crazy. I'm excited. Thanks so much for reading.I introduced a different element in this chapter, as well...Enjoy.

"Fafner failed, milord. He has not been seen since he was sent to track the Lewis girl." The Jötun gave his report nervously, his raspy voice stumbling over itself as he hurried to give his news, already backing away a few steps to await Hagen's response.

"Get me an audience with Surtur," were the only words Hagen murmured, quietly and with his back turned. He was staring intently at a painting on the wall in his Asgardian-supplied quarters, a portrait of the late Queen Frigga. She was posed at the bottom of a staircase, one hand placed on the railing, a tranquil expression on her face. "We must re-group."

"Do you ever feel as if she stares at you?" Hagen said aloud absentmindedly, just as the Jötun turned to leave, swiveling back towards his master with a few blinks of crimson eyes. "Milord?"

"The Queen," Hagen replied, flapping a hand in the direction of the portrait. "Never mind. Get me that meeting. In a cold area of the palace. We wouldn't want the menace at any advantage. Unfortunate enough there are torches along the walls."

He was obviously in a mood, and the Jötun sketched an unseen bow to Hagen's back before darting out of the quarters. Hagen, hand still lifted in a gesture towards the portrait, brought it back to his chin, stroking the dark skin there pensively. After a moment, he moved towards the unlit hearth, using the same hand to pry at the portrait hung above it. The frame gave way at first, swinging to the side and lifting away from the wall, but suddenly a painful current shot through Hagen's hand. The recoiled hand was smoking as he lifted it to his eyes, which moved to the picture with a glare. "You can't interfere where you've gone, witch."

The only response was the chilly wind blowing through the window he always kept open to preserve some semblance of frigidity; for a moment he thought he heard a lyrical laugh chime in with the wind's whispers, but of course it was impossible.

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She wasn't sure what had happened, only that something had gone horribly wrong. She could have been in a cave, a dungeon, some sort of massive closet whose light had burned out – she couldn't tell, except that there was utter darkness all around her.

And then suddenly, there was fire. A ring of flames sketched itself around her almost instantly, the cheery brightness of the flames contrasting with the dread they inspired. Darcy was suddenly aware of Muspels, legions of them, standing at attention behind the ring of fire. But the fact she was gravely outnumbered didn't even matter.

With that awareness came sensation; she was on her knees, could feel the strong, icy arms that restrained her arms, the rough stone flooring, and the biting edge of a sword's blade at her throat. Tears pricked at her eyes, but why?

She blinked, and suddenly the cloaked being from before was there. And he was not alone; a sobbing Jane was crouched over the bleeding, lifeless body of Thor; Odin in his rags lay just beyond them, crumpled upon the ground. And kneeling at the hooded figure's feet was Loki.

That wasn't natural, something in Darcy's mind cried out. He kneeled to no one, why was he kneeling now? The figure raised something that shined in the firelight, a blade, and Darcy's shriek of horror did nothing to halt it plunging the blade into Loki's chest. His startled eyes met hers before a deathly glaze overtook their emerald sheen – was he crying? And Darcy had no time to do anything but close her eyes before a swooshing noise signaled her own death's sharpness swinging towards her throat.

"Hoollyyyy shit," Darcy Lewis gasped, bodily flinging herself upwards from her sleeping position, choking on her own words and trying to escape the dream's grip. "What was that-" She cut herself off with an unintelligible questioning noise, brows raising as she surveyed her surroundings.

She'd definitely fallen asleep in her own quarters, right? Thor and Jane were like a hop, skip, and a jump away? That's not where she was now. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Darcy moved from her reclining position on a familiar sofa, a chill running down her spine as she turned in a circle. She was in Frigga's quarters, inexplicably.

Luckily, her ipod was in the pocket of her sweatshirt, and she pulled it out to check the time. She'd been given a rough estimate of how time worked around here, and even she could tell that she was late to start getting ready for the secondary ball tonight. Hell. Darting to the heavy door of the chamber, Darcy yanked on the ornate knob, her brows furrowing when it didn't open.

She vaguely recalled Loki locking it from the outside with a spell when they had left before, and if that was still in place…How'd she get in here, and by sleepwalking at that?

"What even?" Darcy asked aloud, pivoting on the spot to plant her back against the door and eye the room's contents warily. It wasn't as if a sheaf of curtains or a sofa was going to attack her, but something felt strange, palpable, the atmosphere much different from the last time she'd been in here.

"We established there were no ghosts," Darcy said loudly and clearly, as much to convince herself as to perhaps banish whatever invisible weirdness was going on. She tried the doorknob behind her, hand scrabbling to make the movements backwards, but it was still immovable.

"Please, Miss, uh, Madame," Darcy whispered, unsure of what to say. She took a few steps forward, back into the room, casting her eyes towards the ceiling as she spoke. "Let me…out?"

She turned back around, and almost stepped on a small satchel that had appeared. It was a pink silken bag sealed with a drawstring, and smelled noxious. Still, Darcy stuffed it in a pocket, making a ridiculous curtsy in her sweatshirt and lounge pants. "Thank you?"

The heavy door abruptly swung open with an elongated groan, and another chill down her spine had Darcy racing for the open entryway. As she sprinted down the passageway, the door slammed behind her with a resounding thud.

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"Perhaps I ought to do this myself," Loki mused aloud in his own voice, wearing the guise of Odin as he prepared for the feast that evening. "That mortal finds herself in more trouble than I believed ten of her kind capable of doing."

Muninn responded with a weak caw from his perch on a gilded stand-up mirror, one wing still folded slightly awkwardly against his side. Loki took it as agreement, enjoying the raven having his back again.

"The Allfather leaving another feast would be slightly suspicious, no?" The trickster rambled, huffing to himself as he tightened a gauntlet on his left hand. "Thank the Norns those damned meetings are over for now, though…" His eyes fell on a spell book on his dressing table, a book he was sure he'd put away in the wee hours of the morning. Then again, he was certain of nothing these days, sleeping as little as he did and tending to the damned mortal's antics as much as he had to.

A brow quirking upwards, Loki strode to the table, a smile touching his mouth as the book's unique leather binding brought back memories of learning in the garden with his mother. He raised a hand towards the book, but before he made contact, it heaved itself open, pages flipping of their own accord to finally halt on a concealment spell that was intended for others beside the caster. Loki's hand paused, a full grin covering his lips as his eyes raised to look around the room. "Excellent idea. Thank you, Mother."

Muninn cawed a moment later, the sound more like an affectionate greeting of someone else than in response to the trickster's words. Loki just shook his head gently, running a finger down the enchantment's page and mouthing incantations to himself.

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The plan was to get in, get out, of both Muspel and Jötun quarters tonight. This was much easier said than done, especially when one had the motor skill coordination that Darcy Lewis was in possession of. She had the ability to trip on completely flat floors, wearing flat-soled shoes on dry tile. She somehow banged her elbows in tables that were feet away from her when she passed them. She was constantly sporting bruises on her hips from doorknobs that were at convenient heights, and even overhead lights would hit her on the head, despite hanging a foot above her hairline.

It was a quirk, she told everyone, a gift, really, somehow. Even as Finna hushed her rambling and reached for another comb, Darcy managed to knock several hairpins off the dressing table, even with her hands in her lap. Finna bit down on a Nordic curse, trying to humor the strange mortal girl she'd been told to tend to during her stay, but it was very difficult at times.

Regardless, Darcy's hair was finally tamed into an elegant coil that rested at the nape of her neck, her bangs sweeping down across her face flatteringly. Adela had unearthed a deep forest green gown, already tailored to Darcy's exact measurements, and was on her knees at Darcy's feet putting some finishing touches on the hem. Darcy said nothing about the coincidental presence of a lot of green in her attire.

The dream still had her rattled. Thor and Odin dead, Loki killed in front of her – and somehow the latter had mattered most, had been the crushing blow. That didn't merit further thought at the moment, a knock at the door thankfully rousing Darcy from her tangled thoughts. She darted a glance down her form to make certain she was decent. "Come in!"

Erik Selvig entered, garbed in another loose robe and looking like a deranged, but comfortable, monk from the medieval ages. He'd slept off his dose for the day, but for now he seemed to just want the company, flopping down on Darcy's bed and tapping his fingers against the bedcovers. "You look nice."

"Aww, thanks Erik," Darcy chimed, eyes crinkling in a wide grin she aimed at him in the mirror. "There is a ball tonight. You look pretty crackin' yourself, got that new age monastic look goin' on." Erik smiled happily, though he probably couldn't repeat what she had just said, and continued picking at her blankets.

"Anything wrong, Erik?" Darcy asked, a frown overtaking her smile. The seamstress and maid tactfully pretended to ignore the exchange, though Finna cast an uncertain glance back at the strange man slumped on Darcy's bed.

"Something doesn't feel right here," Erik mumbled. Finna tugged particularly hard at a straggling lock of Darcy's hair, jabbing it into place and eliciting a yelp from the intern. Raising a hand to soothe the area, Darcy turned in her chair as Finna moved to pack away hair accessories. "Doesn't…feel right?" She asked, hands nervously smoothing the material covering her lap. She felt like Nixon must've felt during Watergate and she hadn't even done anything wrong.

"Inter-realm negotiations taking place with Midgardians present," Erik continued absentmindedly, eyes on the view Darcy's window offered. "Earthly guests have never been allowed at these. Fire and ice demons getting along. And now Ian is sick. I don't think it's a coincidence."

Darcy wasn't sure why Erik was bringing his worries to her, the intern – scratch that, she did, 'cause you couldn't often find Jane Foster these days without Thor functioning as her personal breathing device – but she was glad to see the scientist was still in there, the analytical mind she'd grown to admire so much over the past few years of her development. She settled for gingerly edging over to the bed and putting a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder. "You don't need to worry about anything, Ian's gonna get better and we just gotta focus on partying tonight!"

"…In this?" Erik managed to joke, waving at his ensemble. Darcy rubbed his sleeve comfortingly, laying her head on his shoulder. "Glad you came, Papa Selvig," she said with a smile, using an endearment she usually hauled out when she needed something. Right now, she just needed him to behave and stay out of the way. She had an investigation to conduct.

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Sif was very distracted, nearly dropping several things she was handed as she assisted in setting up for the evening's entertainment. Her coordination was usually perfect, but Fandral had to ask her several times if everything was alright, after she turned around with a long bench in her arms and nearly brained Volstagg. "Everything is fine," she'd ground out, slamming down the bench and causing several tiny fractures along the wood. The hefty Volstagg wouldn't be sitting on that side tonight, that was for sure.

After the tables and benches were arranged in the particular layout Odin had designated for tonight – something to do with ritual positioning, yadda yadda – Sif begged off, saying she had several errands to run for the Allfather. No one ever argued with that excuse, and so Fandral and Volstagg were left in the banquet room with a fleet of servants to direct.

"Can I just tell them to start cooking for me?" Volstagg wondered aloud, completely bewildered. Fandral eyed several carts of silverware and tabletop linens that the servants had brought in, wondering how best to direct the help himself.

"We were trained for war, not domestics," Volstagg grumbled aloud. "Where's Adela? She's head coordinator of these things."

"Adela is also head seamstress, if you recall, and if there are guests who will be dressed tonight, she must tend to them," Fandral said distractedly, poking at a folded tablecloth before realizing his wording. "Although there are several guests whom I wouldn't mind appearing at the banquet skyclad…"

"Stop it, you fiendish troll," Volstagg said, smacking the back of a hand into Fandral's upper arm. His other hand was occupied with a turkey leg, the origins of which were completely unknown to the swashbuckler. Maybe it had been tucked inside his tunic for snacktime.

"Merely voicing some honest wishful thinking," Fandral groaned, rubbing at his arm.

"I think the universe would be better off if you did not, my flesh-famished friend," Volstagg said through a mouthful of meat, the grease running down his chin to escape into the depths of his beard. Fandral waved him off, pointing to the boxes and telling the servants to lay out the tabletops to their best recollections. It would have to be good enough for the likes of Jötuns and Muspels, who'd burned most of the napkins at last night's feast in little shows of their abilities.

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"She plans for something tonight, I am sure of it," the girl whispered, eyes darting up and down the corridor even with her head cloaked in a charcoal-grey hood. "She will have to be followed closely. I suspect she'll try to leave predictably, when the evening's entertainment arrives."

Her companion nodded in feigned disinterest, her height granting her a better view of either end of the corridor. "She will be stopped, you can tell him to be certain of that." The taller woman turned to leave, the clasps of her cloak glinting in the hallway, whose sconces had been smothered. "This treachery cannot continue any longer." She strode off, boots clanking.

The informant gave a girly laugh, a high-pitched trill that echoed eerily along the passageway, before her form shimmered, revealing a hunched-over figure clad in the same cloak. A much deeper voice croaked a vow into the silence. "Laufeyson will be unseated before the Lithasblot candles have burned down. His Asgard will fall. I've seen it." With the aid of a cane, the man turned to hobble out of sight. He had to get dressed for the ball too, after all.

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"Who d'you have to bribe for a clothespin around here?" Darcy wondered aloud, staring down at the impressive trail of her dress' skirts. If she was going to be up to clandestine operations and running about in strange Asgardian rooms, she was gonna need to run. This getup just wasn't gonna cut it. Maybe Loki could supply some leggings and sneakers or something when the time came…

Which would be sooner rather than later, she reminded herself, straightening her position and raising her chin in a semblance of ladylike grace as she strode along down the hallway towards the feast hall. Characteristically, she was one of the last to arrive, Odin and his entourage already having entered – she'd been told the Asgardian council had arranged for entertainment tonight, so the limelight was sorta on them for the evening. That left her with Erik Selvig, lingering solo in the hallway outside the grand room and waiting to lead her in.

"Let's give 'em hell, Erik," she muttered, and the scientist just looked at her blankly in his monkish outfit.

"Never mind," she clarified, patting his arm affectionately as they headed in, past the dual doors guarded by the Einherjar and their intimidating spears. The Asgardian sentinels looked even less human in the flickering torchlight, Darcy thought with a shiver, like an otherworldly cross between Britain's palace guards and the Anubis statues in Egypt.

The banquet hall was modified tonight, made into more of a ballroom to accommodate the evening's designs. Tables bordered the room, chairs, punchbowls, and light hors d'oeuvres placed sporadically along them. She suspected Volstagg could ingest it all and want more, but who was she to direct the kitchens? The intern spotted Thor and his warrior companions, steering Erik over to them and swiping a goblet of wine for herself as Volstagg started up a conversation about food with the older scientist.

Odin had stepped into the middle of the room to give another pompous speech, something right up Loki's alley, Darcy thought, and again the concept struck that he actually did make a really great ruler. Nothing was on fire or crumbling when they had arrived, Asgard had looked prosperous, versus the ruins and destruction Jane had described upon their hasty exit last time she'd been here.

"Ehhgghh," Darcy mumbled eloquently into her goblet, noticing the ballroom flooring the Allfather was speaking from. A shiny, wooden, trippable surface. An Asgardian orchestra looked to be set up across the room as well, playing something soft resembling elevator music for the time being.

There was to be dancing tonight, Adela had told her, graciously allowing a little more movement in Darcy's skirts after a few well-placed stitches. But Darcy Lewis didn't dance. Darcy Lewis awkwardly jiggled in place, sometimes ground on strangers after several drinks, but she didn't do ballroom dancing. In Asgard. Where she'd look like a newborn foal trying to find its legs, among the statuesque female specimens that surrounded her, their movements probably having invented grace.

But who would want to dance with the clumsy mortal assistant anyways, she consoled herself, taking a deeper chug of her wine. She was leaving early, anyways.

"Frigga always used to say there was magic in everyone, every animal, every plant, everything in these realms, that it manifested itself in different ways for each being," Odin was saying, his voice thick with an emotion that Darcy found difficult to ignore, but difficult to reconcile with, well, Loki. He'd really been a mama's boy, huh? "Dance was one such practice she would point out to me, as showing such. And so, tonight, we dance. King Surtur-" Odin nodded gravely to the chief of the fire demons, "Lord Hagen-" the Allfather sketched a bow from the waist towards the leader of the frost giants, "Please choose a partner, and join me in an inaugural waltz. As for myself, I am honored to escort the Lady Darcy Lewis of Midgard, as we commence tonight's activities."

If there was a collective gasp and eyebrow raise among the audience, all reaction was completely defeated by Darcy's own, who gasped louder and raised an eyebrow higher than she'd thought physically possible. Sputting a mouthful of wine back into her goblet, she retreated a few steps, horrified, as Odin came towards her, offering a hand. He was still an old dude and this was inappropriate and-But as the Allfather's figure took her hand, his appearance dissolved, showing an immaculately-coiffed Loki clad in perfectly-tailored evening attire. It looked damn good, Darcy didn't think, nope, not at all. But the girl was still too floored to resist as he led her to the floor, placing a now non-ringed hand on her lower back, probably lower than she should have allowed, tugging her closer than she should have allowed.

"I like this color on you," he said conversationally, steering her into position, spaced several yards from the demon lords and their partners. "And the cut of the dress is not too poor, either."

Darcy was having trouble paying attention to the flattery. "How-does-no-one-see-" she managed, cutting her eyes to either side as he raised one of her hands to his shoulder – it was a far reach, and she had to settle for clutching at a leather strap across his torso, or risk looking like she was holding air above Odin's head – and slid slender fingers between those of her other hand.

"I've dropped the illusion for your eyes only," Loki said, his voice oddly gentle. "It's a complex adjustment to the enchantment, but does it make you more comfortable?"

"Like you care," Darcy scoffed, stopping short at the look of – was that hurt? – on Loki's face. "Um, yes, it feels great to not feel like purchased flesh on the arm of an old dude."

"I will accept that as thanks." Loki's tone was back to grave, his eyes roaming the crowd that watched them. At a nod from him, the orchestra started a sedate piece that could have inspired Tchaikovsky, and they started to move. Or rather, Loki's impressive strength started to haul her around the floor in a pretty accurate imitation of waltzing. After a few steps, Darcy was surprisingly into it, trying her best to follow Loki's lead without stepping on anything vital.

"Still bet it looks pretty creepy from out there," she mumbled, eyes downcast and squinting towards the floor. Loki made a strange noise that could have been suppressed laughter, but when her indignant expression rose to meet his, his face was the picture of serenity.

"I find myself disinclined towards any alternative partners," he said airily, startling Darcy into stillness, at which point he pulled her into a twirl, winding her back into him with little effort on his part.

"You're understanding better how this works," he said, pleased, and as they executed another turn, Darcy Lewis was indeed certain that she knew just fine how what was working, and how.

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Finally, the crowd chose their own partners and made their way onto the floor, Fandral claiming Darcy the second Loki's slim fingers had released hers. The loss of his firm, guiding grip was more noticeable than she was comfortable with, and Fandral's was too warm and sweaty already, likely due to the several tankards he and Volstagg had already downed. Still, she made the best of it, stumbling through a set with the pirate-esque man and apologizing for his fumbles.

More than an hour into the ball, Darcy was feeling altogether messy. Her hair was in disarray, she was in need of some Asgardian deodorant, and her parched tongue was crying out for water. Just as she broke free of the dancing crowd and made a beeline for one of the refreshment tables, a cool hand was grabbing her elbow, helping her along.

"I think now is the best opportunity," Loki's voice said with Odin's face, as he grabbed a goblet of his own after handing her one filled with blissfully-nonalcoholic liquid inside. Almost shoving her face entirely into the goblet's depths, eager as she was for water, Darcy nodded after swallowing, heaving a satisfied sigh. "Good stuff."

"It is merely spring water," Loki said, and she could somehow tell he was smiling beneath the stern visage of his adopted father.

"Everything tastes like gold when you're thirsty," Darcy said with a one-shouldered shrug. Setting the goblet aside, she squared her shoulders, nodding crisply at Odin. "Guess I'll be going." He nodded in response, waving his goblet vaguely in the direction of a pillar across the room. "Make for the crowd behind that pillar, and when you pass behind it, a concealment spell will take effect. You're certain of which rooms you're to search?"

The intern nodded profusely, hair falling across her face in a manner far too adorable for her own good. Odin cleared his throat. "You are to get in, get out. No crawling around on hands and knees and taking your time. They have every right to leave the feast early, or retrieve a mantle from their quarters, or whatever excuse they concoct. Diplomatic immunity is something you've expressed familiarity with."

"Got it, Cap'n," Darcy muttered, her perkiness diminishing by the minute as she swept past Odin, holding her head high. She smiled and waved energetically at Erik, though, who looked engaged in a drinking contest with Thor. Ohhh boy, she was not dealing with that aftermath.

True to his word, once Darcy had walked around the wide, stone pillar, one of many bordering the room, she appeared to be invisible. She waved at several Asgardians, flipped off Surtur, and made a face at one of the serving staff, but no one made a reaction. She sincerely hoped it was the illusion's effect, and not some abrupt acknowledgement of her "ant among gods" status. She did turn and crook two fingers above her hairline in an allusion to Loki's horned helmet, and Odin's face darkened, even across the room. She stuck out her tongue, walking backwards out the main doors, which had been left open for air.

Once out in the corridor, Darcy fanned herself, glad for the stone flooring out here that lent a natural form of air conditioning. She was fervently wishing for Muninn the Raven's company on this little foray, but no such luck; she made it to the emissary quarters solo and without obstacles. Producing a strange key that Loki had likened to a Midgardian skeleton key, she soundlessly whistled to herself as she jammed it into the first keyhole she came to, nonchalantly casting a glance over her shoulder in both directions.

A little chiming noise – how very magically cliché – and she was in, gently closing the door behind her as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. Had to be a Muspel's room, as a fire was burning low in the hearth and providing enough light to see by. She had wondered if she'd have to search each and every room of each and every fire demon who was in the palace, but Loki had singled out the particular demons housed in this corridor as being closest to their respective lords, and thus more likely to be in possession of conspiratorial evidence. Or something like that, she had an awful tendency to tune out Loki's words in favor of staring at his eyes or jaw line while he talked.

The quarters were very similar to hers, except everything seemed scaled a little larger – magically expanded, perhaps, to accommodate the size of the guests, she imagined. The suite was a little more spacious, too, and so she got right to work, checking drawers, looking under the bed, peering into the corners of the closet-like storage area. She even pulled back the curtains to check the windowsill for stashed items, but there was nothing.

As she crept back towards the door, something occurred to her. Sneaking a glance back at the fire still smoldering in the fireplace, Darcy wondered if it was, like, a fiery surveillance system. Could the Muspels communicate with flames?

"Aah," Darcy bit out, deciding she'd come too far to worry about that, and relying on Loki's larger form as a handy barrier to hide behind if shit hit the fan.

The next room was freezing as hell, Darcy appreciating her inner monologue's wittiness even as she rubbed her hands over her bared arms for warmth. Obviously a Jötun's room, her visible exhalations confirmed, all of the furniture glazed over with the sheen of ice that reflected any and all light, making it at least a little brighter when she produced an orb the size of a marble that Loki had given her. Tossing it into the air like she'd been shown, she was still weirded out when it didn't fall to the floor but began to hover, enlarging and brightening until it illuminated the room.

This search proved fruitless as well, the stupid ice making it really hard to lift the lids of the traveling trunks stashed around the room or even move around easily. Finally, Darcy managed to chisel away enough of the ice covering an Ottoman to lift the lid and peer inside. Absolutely nothing, not even spare sheets. She closed the lid with a thump and an irritated sigh, opting to sit on the piece of furniture, ice be damned.

Staring hard at the barren fireplace, Darcy had an idea. The Jötuns would never use it, and servants had probably either not been allowed in here, or also been sufficiently instructed in that department, and so…Maybe…She lunged to her feet, crossing the room and throwing herself onto her knees before the chilly hearth. Carefully removing the simple grate that hooked onto the front to protect from flying embers, Darcy evaluated her options. Stab blindly around the space with a poker, or risk her hand getting covered in ancient soot and having to return to the party like that?

Sighing, Darcy brushed her bangs out of her face, using the same hand to reach into the stone-edged space, alternately patting and poking. Her hand scraped painfully over a base stone that stuck up more than the others, and Darcy winced, her hand pausing on that spot. The stone seemed to move more with the weight of her palm, and a lightbulb went on in the intern's head. Curving her fingers around the misshapen stone, she tugged, rewarded with minimal resistance and a dull grating noise that signified the stone lifting out. Her hand returned to the discovered cubbyhole, excitement mounting when she encountered what felt like thick parchment.

Hoping her hand wasn't too covered in soot or spreading it to the document, she hauled her find out of its hiding space, rubbing her hand along the dark carpeting to free her skin of any dust. Luckily, it wouldn't show any stain. The scroll she unraveled with brows raised, however, showed her absolutely nothing except a lot of squiggles and strange symbols. She turned it this way and that, frowning, knowing she was low on time now, but after 270 degrees of turning, it started to make sense.

Her blood chilled as she realized the diagram was of troop movements, the center lines connecting to form the vague shape of a palace. Dotted lines looked like they showed the bridge leading to the Bifrost, and a hand moved unconsciously to Darcy's mouth. Written in the corner was a Nordic rune, something that she had seen on different occasions since they'd arrived – the sign for Lithasblot evening itself. And if she recalled correctly, tonight was the actual date that commemorate the festival, everything else was frivolities added before and after to elongate the excuse for drinking and eating yourself senseless.

A fluttering noise reached her ears, and Darcy's eyes wandered to her left when a caw sounded. Muninn was there. Right there, at her left elbow, squawking like an alarmed goose.

"Muninn," she said, surprised. "What-" A clanking of armor was the only warning Darcy had before the raven was taking off, startling her into losing her balance and tumbling to the side. When she looked up, a hurled spear was quivering from its position, sunk into the floor where she'd just been.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed, scrambling backwards on her hands and knees, the scroll crumpled but still in one hand, as Sif strode into the room, unsheathing her sword.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to believe a being like Frigga could just be extinguished, nothing more to her. Just my take. ~Bon


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in as many days, say whaat? I know, I'm excited too. A lot of you expressed anxiety at the potential wait for fulfillment of that cliffhanger, and hopefully this suffices. I'm pretty pumped for what's happening, so updates should be...A little more rapid...Hopefully.
> 
> I wanted to take this chance to again recommend you all check out "A Morbid Taste for Ice", a true masterpiece that was just completed at 39 chapters. I got so emotional. I consider that fic the definitive one that lured me into this fandom, and I owe sitehound so much, from her own depiction of Darcy to the way Darcy and Loki interact altogether. I consider her writings the penultimate epitome of Tasertricks.
> 
> Enough rambling, let's save a realm already. Or not.

"There is an explanation for this, I swear," Darcy stammered, latching onto a bedpost and hauling herself upright, brushing at her skirts. When she looked up, Sif was a few paces away, her sword leveled at Darcy's throat.

"You have wrought enough here, mortal. Someone must stop you." Sif's words were as cold as the room, and Darcy risked a look around the chamber, hoping the raven had made it away from the crazy sword-wielding bitch. They didn't both have to die tonight.

"There is a plot brewing against Asgard, Sif! I'm trying to help!" Darcy cried, waving the scroll around in her fist.

"I am well aware there is a conspiracy, Lady Darcy. It has been afoot for months, under our noses, ever since we received word that Thor's bastard brother was dead. The conspiracy you speak of is entirely of Loki's conception, and you are a part of it." Sif's sword did not lower, instead she advanced, angling the tip at Darcy's neck so that the intern had to inch her chin upwards or risk a necklace of blood.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Darcy insisted. "The Jötuns, I think the Muspels too, they don't want peace, they want Asgard for themselves or something!"

"They will topple the deceptive wretch who rules Asgard from a stolen throne, and we will return this realm to rightness," Sif corrected, tilting the blade from side to side in a way that made Darcy afraid to swallow. "They have promised the throne will be given to Thor."

Darcy couldn't help it – she snorted. "You think he wants it? Thor would rather eat Raisin Bran from the box all day, nonstop, than take the throne. And he hates Raisin Bran." Her spare hand was fumbling in the camouflaged pockets of her skirts, dropping the skeleton key there, and she made a mental note to give a bear hug of thanks to Adela, who had complied with her request to a tee.

"You-" Sif snarled, pausing to whip her head around at a noise in the outside corridor. Darcy took her chance, pulling out the little satchel she'd stumbled across in Frigga's rooms, and tossing a fistful of the powder at the warrior. She had no clue what would happen – maybe a powdered pepper spray, if she was lucky – but a cloud of vibrant red smoke erupted instead with a muted boom, and Darcy was thanking the Asgardian heavens and dodging around the sword-flailing warrior without further prompting.

Sif gasped through a cough, "You are not leaving this room alive, you treacherous bitch." Her sword's blade swung out of the lingering red cloud blindly, nearly leaving Darcy one-armed.

"That language is not ladylike-" the younger woman choked out, the hand clutching the scroll pressed to her corseted ribs as she lurched towards the door. Shoving the assorted objects in her hands into her other pocket, she retrieved the key with squinted eyes, heaving open the door and making it into the hallway. Without further ado she jammed the shaped metal into the lock, sincerely hoping this would work. A cheerful click seemed to signify she'd succeeded in locking the maddened Sif inside, and Darcy was off, staggering down the hallway like she was drunk, coughing like she'd smoked three cigarettes in as many minutes.

Tears were clogging her eyesight, and she sort of wished that powder had been sentient enough to avoid harming her, but whatever. She was in possession of her life and all necessary limbs, and that was enough. The thudding of heavy, rapid footsteps in the corridor ahead had her panicking, darting behind the nearest decorative statue. Looking up, she spotted a brass likeness of Frigga, and the irony hit her like a train of inappropriate humor.

She must've been in hysterics, she thought, the aftermath of a near-death experience, because this was funny as hell, her covering her laughing mouth with a hand and cowering behind some metal-molded skirts. The footsteps passed her hiding place without slowing, and she sagged against the statue with relief. A muted pounding could now be heard further away, reminding her of Sword-ey Sif. Eyes widening in remembrance, Darcy crept out from behind the statue, tiptoeing along the wall in what she hoped was the right direction.

A gauntleted hand caught her upper arm, and Darcy only had time for a terrified squeak before she was firmly pulled around to face her arrestor.

"Your face does not grow on people, old man," she managed after a heavy swallow, her shoulders relaxing at the sight of the eye patch.

"You are unharmed?" Odin's gruff voice asked, scanning her up and down in a way that was regretfully solely for evaluating how intact she was. What is wrong with you, Darcy, she thought, mentally face-palming.

"Yep, and we got some bigger fish to fry. This," she said, holding up the now-mangled scroll, "is one diagram of probably many, detailing troop movements by at least the Jötuns. I think they mean to take Asgard altogether, not just you. You're the rallying figure, and with you gone, chaos will reign instead. And I think this means it starts tonight." She pointed at the runic date.

"You're beginning to pick up my speech mannerisms," Loki observed dryly, impressed with her metaphor and giving no sign that he'd heard her significant news. Darcy blushed, breaking eye contact and instead pointing down the hallway. "And, um, Sif attacked me, interrupted me finding this. She's allied with them, and apparently knows your game. I think she's under a misunderstanding of the Jötuns motives, but still, I almost got shish kebabed and she means to finish what she started. I locked her in…"

Odin's single eye furrowed in confusion at the strange verb, but he held a hand aloft, Muninn fluttering down from circling above them to alight on his glove. He then transferred the raven to Darcy's shoulder, the picture of calmness even as a loud splintering noise reached them from down the hall, a feminine roar of rage echoing towards them.

"You're going to need something a little more functional," Loki said, drawing out the word "little" as he strove for lightness in his tone. He placed his hand at Darcy's eye level, then sharply swung it down, and her outfit was suddenly not her evening gown anymore, but dark jeans, solidly flat-soled boots, a white v-neck t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Of course a leather jacket. She even had a bra on now, which was disconcerting at best. Creepy magic. Drawing more of her attention, though, was the pounding noise growing closer, something that sounded an awful lot like marching.

But Odin was already backing away, drawing the sword at his belt that she'd always believed was an empty sheath, solely for decoration or something. The illusion flickered and died, revealing Loki in all his finery. He cut quite the dashing figure, sword aloft and all that delicious leather hugging his form. A pale hand reached for something unseen in his tunic, and a second later he was offering her a rune-inscribed dagger, which she accepted, stepping back uncertainly.

His green eyes were filled with something she couldn't name when he sent her one last glance. "Run."

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He knew something was wrong when Muninn abruptly appeared on his shoulder in the banquet hall, even as another set of dancing started. The birds did not usually tap into the supernatural spectrum of their abilities often, but on occasion he'd seen them appear in a place when he knew they'd been on the opposite end of the grounds not a moment before. So he was not startled, just perturbed when he tilted his head to lock eyes with the beady darkness of Muninn's, and grasped something he didn't like.

Heimdall was on his way, but even the Watcher couldn't move fast enough.

"Mistake after mistake," the king muttered gruffly, slamming down his goblet on a nearby table. "It seems the Allfather must take his leave, after all."

"Allfather, is anything the matter?" A councilwoman asked, approaching with a look of concern. "You look ill, milord." Odin brushed her off without a word, which wasn't unusual, making his way towards the doors.

Along the way, two councilmen stepped into his path, Hoden, the blind, eldest member, and Baldur, a young, handsome relation of some nobleman. "Allfather, you cannot be leaving!" Baldur said with dismay, waggling the goblet he held. "The feast is not half over!"

"I'm afraid I have a small matter to deal with at present, but I shall return," Odin assured them with as much calmness as he could muster. Muninn was pecking painfully at his ear, and it was most distracting, not to mention worrying.

Hoden nodded slowly, unruffled, his unseeing eyes cast towards the ceiling. "We shall ensure everything continues as planned, Milord." Odin murmured his thanks, clapping a hand on each man's shoulder, before sweeping past them and heading out of the room. He missed Hoden's wicked smile of satisfaction at his subtle double entendre, and the nod the elder somehow knowingly sent in the direction of King Surtur. The Muspel lord answered with another nod, mid-dance as he was, staring with a grin in the direction Odin had taken.

Heimdall caught up to him in the corridor, sword unsheathed and expression upset. It was funny, Loki had always seen him unruffled, nothing ever getting to Heimdall, even when the trickster's actions threatened the entire realm. Concern for the Lewis girl was rubbing off on everyone, it seemed.

"She's out of the room," Heimdall growled abruptly, blinking rapidly as if disoriented, as they strode through the palace. "She's barricaded her assailant inside, but…"

"See to that room, then," snapped Loki with Odin's voice. "She can't have gotten far, I'm afraid." Heimdall nodded, cutting off on a side route that would take him to the room from the opposite direction.

The Allfather was hurrying as best he could without employing uncharacteristic actions, but it was frustrating. The guards he passed shouted out worried queries, but he waved them off, ridiculously panicked at the thought of Darcy Lewis in danger, with no one else save Heimdall knowing where she was or how utterly skilled she was at worsening already-terrible situations.

The relief he felt was both sickening and warming when he caught her sneaking from her hiding place in the hall, but he didn't show the alarm he felt at her revelation of the plans in play. He'd made a grave error. It had been his own foolish ignorance and arrogance that had led the whole of Asgard into a trap, a trap he himself should have seen coming. It was something he'd have done.

He had underestimated the Jötuns and the Muspels. There were unseen pathways in and out of Asgard beyond the Bifrost, but he had thought himself the sole bearer of that knowledge, for so long. And someone had to be helping them from within Asgard, someone besides Sif, who could convince her of the righteousness of their mission.

He could count on armies entering his realm even as he stood here, facing the frightened mortal girl who was so courageous at the same time. On top of that, he had left his people unattended, enough Muspels and Jötuns in that room to make it a total slaughter, even if Thor and the other warriors fought back. And if a mortal such as Erik Selvig were used as leverage, the god of thunder would not lift a finger in resistance.

All this passed beneath the surface, even as he dissolved his illusion. He'd face whatever came as he was, as Loki, bringer of Mischief, Harbinger of Chaos, Lord of Asgard, at least for the time being. He could hear Sif break her way out of the room she'd been locked in, and the pounding of many, many more feet headed their way.

Drawing his sword, a weapon he was a bit rusty in wielding but nevertheless could send a message with, he sent Darcy one last look of regret. Perhaps she could make it to Jane Foster, get them out in time for Heimdall to aid them in escaping Asgard. He spelled an outfit onto her that was more suited for flight, and fighting if she had to, handing her one of his most valued daggers with his free hand.

"Run," was all he said, but he tried to convey something else with the single syllable, unsure if he'd see the little intern again as she followed his instructions. Muninn took flight from her shoulder, guiding her through the twists and turns of the stone halls.

Just as she made it out of sight, a crunching sound behind him had Loki turning to see Heimdall hurled into the marble wall. The Guardian made quite a dent as he raised himself from the floor, brushing at his armor and grimacing at Sif, who approached, looking much the worse for wear. Hair askew, several shades of dust marring her armor, she nevertheless raised her sword in their direction.

"Heimdall, you would betray your king so?" She asked, shocked, eyes narrowed. Heimdall, for his part, straightened his posture, folding his hands across his midsection whilst still clutching his own blade. "I serve the King of Asgard, any king who seeks to protect and preserve the realm and its best interests. At the moment, I am convinced it is he." His head jerked towards Loki.

"Do you not wonder where the true Odin is? If he lies slain, rotting in a ditch in the outer grounds, cast away like a broken spear?!"

"I am assured he is safe and intact, and that is all that concerns me for the moment. Lady Sif, enemies of the state are at this very moment laying siege to Asgard, with your help, I understand. I cannot allow this to continue. Will you bear arms against our kingdom's foes, instead of its current king?"

"I will not," Sif snarled, swinging her sword in an arc before her. "We will right the grievous wrongs the Silver-tongued bastard has committed by stealing the Allfather's throne. The majority of Asgard and you yourself may be taken in, but I will not be led to the slaughter by his serpentine hands."

"Tell us how you really feel, Sif," Loki muttered, a tad insulted, tracing patterns upon the stone floor with his lowered sword tip. But the warrior was forging ahead even without encouragement. "Lord Hoden is with me, and he will convince the rest of the council. No Asgardian blood shall be spilled, save for yours, and those who aid you, Laufeyson."

Hoden. The slippery fiend. He probably wasn't even blind, Loki thought grumpily, and he wouldn't comply with all the frilly promises Sif was spouting, not in a million years, if he was using frost giants and fire demons to get his way.

The steps that reverberated through the halls had decreased in volume; perhaps they were lost, Loki noted with some small satisfaction. He looked sideways, to Heimdall, whose amber eyes were glazed as he watched something unfold in another part of the castle. When clarity returned, they reached Loki's emerald ones. "Whatever you did, Jane Foster was not safe enough."

Well, that was annoying news.

"Oh, for the love of-" Loki was cut off as Sif chose that moment to charge straight at the trickster, forcing him to whip up his own sword to parry her blows. She was relentless, though, alternating her swings from side to side, keeping him on his toes and thanking his quick reflexes; this was not his forte, and he was facing Sif, after all. She was not called the best shield maiden in Asgard for no reason. Their blades met, the metal grinding with the pressure each was exerting; gritting his teeth, Loki shoved Sif back a few paces, dancing backwards to re-evaluate. Before he could do anything more, though, Heimdall was stepping in front of him, his own sword raised.

"You are my king, and I am sworn to defend you as well as Asgard's integrity," the Guardian said calmly, folding into a fighting stance as he faced Sif. "The mortals are in danger, as well as the rest. Go."

Loki was typically the first to leave a fight, he couldn't deny it, but something in him was touched by Heimdall's actions nonetheless. "The favor will be returned," was all he said, his gratitude unspoken as he dashed in the direction Darcy Lewis had taken. He would never admit she was a priority, just as he would never thank Heimdall outright.

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This was not what she had signed up for, Jane Foster thought bitterly, staring with arms folded out the window of Darcy's new room. Her intern had promised fun, research, maybe making some exotic science – instead she'd been mourning, incarcerated in a dungeon, and now politely locked in the guestroom. She didn't even have a telescope at hand, and the evening skies looked terrific, stars already making their appearances for the night.

Steepling her fingers in front of her face, she forced a deep breath. Darcy would tell her all about the awesome party, yes, she would. Her intern would get into absolutely no trouble at all tonight, they'd all have fun, even Erik Selvig, and maybe if she was lucky, a goblet of wine would find its way into this room and into her hands, courtesy of Darcy. At least her luggage had been brought to her from the room they'd been sharing before, and Jane was back in her own sweater and lounge pants. It was a comfort, and simultaneously infuriating – she secretly really looked forward to the fancy dresses in Asgard.

On top of everything, she was starving. As if bidden, there was a rap at the door, and a quiet accent said her name. "Come in, Finna," Jane said, not turning around. Darcy's maidservant had tended them since the beginning, she was definitely trustworthy. "Please tell me you brought dinner."

"And company," Finna's polite tones replied, something in her tone making Jane spin around. The slight girl was flanked by two Jötuns, staring with open hunger at Jane, who backed up a step. "Finna?"

"It's actually Lord Hoden, m'dear," said Finna, but her voice was now that of an elderly man, and as she spoke, her figure dissolving into the form of one. His gaze was unfocused, a golden staff in his hands propping him upright as he appraised Jane's reaction.

"Holy shit," the petite astrophysicist moaned, a hand moving to her mouth. "All along…" A thought occurred to her. "Did you poison my intern's intern?"

Hoden grinned crookedly, even as he beckoned the two Jötuns forward. "I had a part in that, but there will be time for questions later, my dear, we have a feast to attend. I know you have a voracious appetite for knowledge."

Jane was torn between putting up a fight and making Thor proud, which would likely result in a ripped-off limb or two by the look of these frost giants, and just going with them quietly in an attempt to at least hear out the conspiracy's extent. She chose the latter, knowing Thor would make everything infinitely worse if he believed her harmed at all. That is, if these guys didn't intend to rip her limb from limb yet.

She allowed herself a huff of relief as the Jötuns merely switched to flanking her, though they looked like they wanted to do more, one nudging her forward, towards the waiting Hoden. The Asgardian elder looked like an indulgent father, his smile wide as he put an arm around Jane's shoulders, ushering her into the hall and towards the ball.

The scene was as grim as she'd imagined; crowds of Asgardians, clad in finery that surpassed even the usual, their terrified expressions at odds with the fancy silks and jewels adorning them. Hordes of Jötuns paced around one half of the ball's attendees towards one side of the dance floor, and Muspels stood guard, spaced through the other half. Angrboða was visible, near the front of the Jötuns, looking distraught, for her part, as distraught as one with crimson eyes could look. Jane had been told of her role in the small kidnapping scheme, and felt very sorry for the female frost giant. She didn't seem to want any part in the current goings-on.

Dimly, Jane wondered just how the rest of Asgard functioned – were there forces outside the palace, in the city, who were also besieged, or could anyone be relied on to come to the rescue?

And where the hell were Darcy and Loki?

"Ladies and gentlemen, the evening truly begins," Hoden began, leaving Jane's side and hobbling into the middle of the ballroom, turning on the spot to survey the crowd, making the scientist wonder if he truly was blind. "I regret it came to this, but Asgard has been regrettably harboring a snake in the garden. The reigning Allfather – or should I say, the most recently-reigning king, was a fraud, not the Odin you all believed. I am here to right his wrongs." There was a hushed communal gasp, heads turning and shocked expressions, until a voice Jane loved spoke up.

"What madness has taken you, old man, to take these people hostage, to attempt to overthrow my father?" Thor asked, and Jane sought him in the crowd, finally spotting his tall figure nearly concealed by all the Jötuns guarding him. She had her own enlarged entourage surrounding her, and she figured he'd only refrained from hammering those around him on threat of harm to her. Sigh.

"Your father is not here, boy, as you were not intended to be," Hoden said with a scowl, focusing on the thunder god. "He is locked away by the very same runty excuse for a frost giant he took in so many centuries ago." Jane could see Thor blanch even from where she stood.

"…Loki? He is dead," Thor said with certainty, though his brow cinched with confusion.

"Oh, he wanted you to think so, and the rest of you as well," Hoden said, resuming his surveillance of his new subjects. How could he see? Jane was still wondering. "But Loki Laufeyson did not die on Svartalfheim as believed. He returned, and did away with the real Odin, taking his place and fooling all of us. Only I, with my keen visions, could tell! But you would not listen, would you Asgard? And so I needed my own reinforcements, my own allies!"

He used his cane to point at the various giants and demons around the room, Hagen moving to the front of his hordes proudly, and Surtur doing the same, though more hesitantly, it seemed. "You have brought this upon yourselves, Asgardians. But I forgive you for falling for the illusions of an experienced trickster. And for that reason, there will be no punishments administered under my rule. Asgard will continue to prosper as a close partner of Jotunheim and Muspelheim, under a uniting banner of power and integrity, not on a foundation of lies and clandestine operations."

"Is that not what this coup is the product of, Milord?" Fandral spoke up, voice tinted with disgust. "Conspiratorial actions?"

"You silly child," Hoden said, tsking and shaking his head sadly. "You are so lost, you foolish warriors with your blind loyalty to any one sitting in that grand chair in the throne room. You have followed the orders of a deception for months, do you understand? You believed Odin merely addled by grief, rethinking his strategies, but that was not the case-"

"You are one to speak of blindness. And you think you can rule Asgard and simultaneously keep Muspelheim and Jötunheim on the same leash?" Volstagg now chimed in, giving a shove to the Jötun at his side who was a little too close for his comfort.

"Silence!" Hoden roared, his apparent age and disability doing nothing to hinder his volume. "Accept my rule. Kneel, bow before me, and we shall move forward." A scoff from Thor's end of the room was all that was audible, until Hoden waved a hand, and Jane was pushed forward. A snarl of rage came from the blonde thunder god, but Jane put up a small placating hand, trying for a brave smile even as a Jötun leveled an ice-crafted blade at her neck.

"Resist, and innocents start to die, beginning with our lovely Midgardian guests." Hoden said flatly, waving to a pair of Muspels, who shoved Erik Selvig forward between them. He looked on the verge of a heart attack, and Jane was sorry, so sorry, that she'd brought him into this.

"Milord!" A voice like grinding stones called into the room, a Jötun skidding into sight from a side door. "They have captured Laufeyson."

"Alive, I hope?"

"Yes, Milord, though not without a fight, which was unexpected from the coward…"

"Results." Hoden's voice was thoughtful, his smile widening. He flicked a finger, and the blade at Jane's throat melted, the Jötun staring, puzzled, at its now-empty hand. "Not necessary," he said airily. "We have the biggest prize on its way. One of them, at least."

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This was ranking fairly high on the scale of crappiest days ever, Darcy thought, rushing down corridor after corridor. She needed a new set of lungs, several years of therapy, and a bomb shelter to live in forever, when she got back home. Also a memory wipe, for more reasons than she could count anymore. Also a permanent supply of wine. And she was totally quitting the political science program, opting for something soft and cuddly like Art History. Safe.

Too late, she remembered she still held the scroll she'd found in the Jötun's quarters. Maybe Loki had meant for her to keep it, though? Awesomely enough, his wardrobe spell had transferred whatever had been in her dress' pockets to the pockets of the leather jacket zipped over her torso. Her grand, world-saving arsenal consisted of a crumpled roll of paper, a key, a nearly-empty pouch of smoke-producing magic powder stuff, a dagger, and a tube of store-brand lip gloss. She was packin' heat, all right.

And a raven, she corrected, pausing for breath at the edge of a corner, Muninn landing on her shoulder as she craned to peer around the turn in the marble wall. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and she fisted a hand over her middle as if it would silence the noise, regretting the choice of water over hors d'oeuvres at the ball. Shoulda grabbed a slice of quiche for the road.

A distant scream caught her attention, and Darcy peeled herself from the wall to cautiously inch over to the nearest window with a sill that was only waist-high. Smoke was rising from certain buildings in the lower town, she could see from this many floors up, and something glinting in the distance looked like ice coating an entire building. Asgard was burning and freezing simultaneously, the attack well under way already by the looks of it.

She didn't know much about Asgardian infrastructure, but it seemed to her that the army was not a standing one; Odin seemed to summon it only when he needed it to invade or something, historically. Seeing as Loki was a little tied up at the moment – hopefully not literally – she suspected not many orders were being given, and resistance had not been mustered quickly enough. If Asgard's defenses were down, she could be the only loose mouse in a large house crawling with hungry cats. The ballroom was likely already taken, and it was only a matter of time before a manhunt was underway.

She had to find Loki, Jane, Thor, anyone. Heimdall's watchtower was too far to try to make it to, and the streets were not safe, if the elevating noise outside was any indication. She was on her own for now. Muninn gave a mournful little squeak at her ear, and she reached up a hand to automatically stroke and calm the bird. "You could probably still get away," she murmured softly, but the bird just answered with a haughty look that was curiously Loki-esque. "Suit yourself," she said with a smiling shake of her head, pleased the bird wasn't about to ditch her. "So, how do we save the world?"

Pulling out the scroll from pockets that were apparently deeper than they appeared, Darcy stared hard at the diagram, garnering anything she could about the palace's layout from it. Where would a safe place be? Dimly, she recalled Loki saying something about the healing quarters having their own individual set of wards, controlled by the Lady Eir. She was a mysterious being, but many said she had some abilities similar to Heimdall – if she could tell something was wrong, Ian could still be safe.

Just as she made up her mind to tell Muninn to lead the way, approaching footsteps sounded behind her. She was still in front of the window, but at a junction between parallel halls, so she would be visible no matter what she tried. Stuffing the scroll back in her pocket, Darcy looked at her other hand, resting on the sill of the window. Hm…

"The Lewis girl is still at large. Curious, eh, that one small mortal slips through the fingertips of three realms," came the crackling voice of a Muspel, likely on dual patrol duty, because another voice answered. "Only her?"

"Most others are accounted for, the other mortals, the thunder god…" came the first voice, very near; they must have paused to take in the destruction outside. Darcy sincerely hoped they were not the gawking sort, because it was kind of, sort of painful to cling to the ivy-covered trellis on the outside of a palace wall, she had learned in the past thirty seconds. Muninn, on the other hand, looked right at home, like any old pigeon enjoying an afternoon perch.

"Laufeyson?"

"He as well. The Lord Hoden is most pleased. They're bringing him to him now."

Darcy's blood chilled, and she nearly lost her grip in a sudden fit of dizziness, the strange dream she'd had coming back to her in little flashes. Not now, she pleaded internally, trying to breathe, resting her forehead against the cool stone of the palace exterior.

"I'd like to be there, maybe help torture out some admissions of guilt for the first time in his damned existence," grumbled one of the Muspels, laughing.

She wasn't sure if this was a panic attack or what, but Darcy couldn't steady her breathing, her clammy fingers struggling to keep her still. Abruptly, there was a soothing sensation, like a warm hand rubbing her back, like her mom used to do when she was sick as a child. It seemed to envelop her, and then it was gone as soon as it had come, and Darcy was breathing steadily again, able to pay attention to the fire demons' conversation.

"Eir is the last obstacle. Medical wards proving unbreakable, and they've got supplies to endure a lengthy siege, and who knows what other tricks that witch has up her sleeve?" Their voices were growing distant, the last word the final thing Darcy could hear. She waited a moment longer, swallowing thickly before levering herself back inside carefully, deciding she'd join a Parkour program when she was back home. Those antics would be nothing to her, now.

The Muspels had left the corridor a little too warm, and she unzipped her jacket, fanning herself with the zipper-lined sides. One nod to Muninn, and they were off, down the opposite way the fire demons had come.

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Something had changed in the air; even locked away beneath stone and magic, Odin knew this. He had governed Asgard for far too long to have not been in tune with its air, its atmosphere, its conditions, and something was gravely wrong. A hitch in his adopted son's plans for world domination, perhaps? Maybe Thor had learned the truth, and was pitching a classic tantrum. Ah, how he wished it were so, but he sensed something much more malevolent at hand.

He was protected, as it were, by the very dungeons that imprisoned him; only Loki and those mortal girls knew of this place, no one would think to look here. That could be both a blessing a curse, depending on what was occurring in his beloved halls.

Seating himself cross-legged on the chilled stone flooring, Odin closed his eyes, raising his hands and pressing palm to palm, focusing. One with his experience was never quite without options, and when he opened his eyes to a tapping noise outside his cell, faced with the familiar black beak and eyes of Huginn, he was never more glad for Frigga's magical influence on him, her insistence that he learn a bit of the basics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ~Bon


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one laugh at me. Somehow I mixed Hagen, Odin, and Hoder, ending up with the "Hoden" I dubbed my villain last chapter. HODER, Hoder is what I meant. My hilarious faux-pas has since been corrected, I think. Thank goodness for the MS word function FIND AND REPLACE.
> 
> Sooo, I'm toying with the idea of introducing Hela in this fic, provided I research her a little more. She would play an important game-changing part towards the end...Yay or nay?
> 
> Also, my Asgard is roughly modeled after the Minas Tirith in the LOTR movies, which might make part of this a little easier to envision.
> 
> And, I've posted like 18k in 5 days or something, so pardon this writer if she takes a little break for schoolwork and maybe tending to her other fic, she's a little crosseyed at the moment. This chapter's a little longer to compensate.
> 
> To commemorate the season finale of SHIELD tonight, here is chapter ten!

It was a subdued audience, a mix of Asgardians, mortals, Vanites, Muspels, and Jötuns who waited impatiently for Hoder's prize prisoner to arrive.

Jane was still painfully aware she was in a sweatshirt and woven lounge pants – repping Team Earth, yep, she was all about that. Even the savage Jötuns wore glossy furs and belts, she noted with a scowl, wondering if she could bum Angrboða's fancy fur cloak off her, you know, in recompense for having kidnapped her and stuffed her in a freezing cell three floors below the cellars.

The frost giantess met her eyes at that point, red eyes closing as she gave a slow, solemn nod of recognition. Jane returned the gesture, wondering idly if there was anything between Loki and Angrboða that had elicited the favor. Or worse, if there was anything to the snappy banter and cryptic looks that had passed between him and Jane's own intern. If Darcy was lying somewhere, injured, because Loki had put her in a dangerous position…Jane clenched her hands at her sides, trying to draw a deep breath and summon some faith in Loki's serpentine nature. There was always something whirring away mischievously in Loki's brain, like clockwork, concealed by that ridiculous hair.

Jane ran a hand through her own, wishing for a comb and shifting her weight from one foot to another. She was getting antsy, wondering how long everyone was expected to stand at attention for the ridiculous rambling announcements of an ancient, magical Hitler. Thor's attention span was sorely lacking, she knew from experience after trying to teach him to play Scrabble – he'd poked at the solitary wooden letters, expecting them to magically shuffle or something. He couldn't be expected to stand here and take this, and she had to hope a plan was in play. Where was Sif, anyhow? She usually balanced the scale of testosterone in the room, and the tall brunette was conspicuously absent from the ball's proceedings.

Darcy, too, Jane reminded herself with another pang of worry. She was technically responsible for her entire party, with maybe the exception of Thor, and as it stood, Ian was comatose in a potentially besieged hospital room in this realm, Erik Selvig was wavering on his feet across the room with a Jötun blade pointed at him, and Darcy's whereabouts were completely unknown. She'd failed them all, she realized, a chill running through her. They could all die here, and it was because she wanted to go to a science party.

This was becoming a recurring theme, she thought soberly. Jane, harbinger of evil and death to Asgard. The late queen had been only the first victim, Jane thought, watching Frigga weave in and out of the crowd across the- wait.

Frigga, fallen former Queen of Asgard, was traversing the unaware patches of hostages across the chamber. Jane rubbed her eyes furiously, rotated her head on her neck, blinked over and over, but she could still see Thor's mother, clad in a pale, rose-colored gown, sweeping among her former subjects like it was any old day in Asgard, even glancing a hand across Thor's arm affectionately. He gave no sign he'd noticed.

"No way," Jane whispered. Darcy had rambled a lot of gibberish about the potential for ghosts in a land such as this, when they were packing, but Jane had dismissed her excitement as fantastical what-ifs. Frigga was definitively deceased, she knew, she'd seen the blood pool left over when they'd removed the body, she'd seen…Seen the pyre set aflame, seen it dissolve into some sort of magical remnants that dispersed into the night sky. Thor had explained that, even though it seemed a tad anticlimactic in her eyes, that was all there was to it, the end of an Aesir.

So what the hell was going on?

Jane really, really wished she had access to Odin's – or was it Loki's right now, she wasn't sure – library of mystical self-page-turning books, to read up some more on Lithasblot. If she'd skimmed a book back home correctly, because it never hurt to be up on the knowledge of any thing ever, Lithasblot was sort of like the All Hallow's Eve, Dia de los Muertos, Walpurgisnacht of the Nordic realm. Veils thinned between worlds, magical rules turned upside down, things like that, sort of like a spiritual version of the convergence, if one believed in that sort of thing. Jane was finding it hard not to find any credibility in the readings she'd perused, though, watching a dead woman waltz around the room, apparently unseen by anyone but her. Maybe she had just lost it. She was still hungry. Hunger mirages, were those a thing? Maybe if she had that telescope she'd been wanting earlier –

Frigga chose at that moment to meet Jane's shocked eyes, smiling kindly and extending her hand, palm downwards, moving it up and down slightly in some sort of calming gesture. It was sentient, this apparition, and Jane swallowed, wondering if it would look weird if she nodded when the dual doors to the hall banged open, a group of Jötuns in a curiously militaristic formation marching in. When Jane looked again, Frigga had vanished. Her eyes moved back to the new arrivals, the platoon of Jötuns leading the way for a stumbling figure who was trailing crimson streaks along the lighter stone floor, followed closely by a group of Muspels in the same curious alignment, like actual soldiers.

The figure was abruptly shoved to its knees, chains rattling, by a gleeful Jötun who ground out a laugh as they did it. The prisoner didn't look to have needed the shove, though, readily collapsing onto the floor, pale hands splaying across the stone for balance. It was Loki, looking much the worse for wear, Jane saw with dismay, dark hair in disarray across his face, blood splotched over much of his outfit, seeping down his pale hands. Yikes. He looked like he'd been put through a wood chipper.

A painful howl tore through the crowd, tears springing to Jane's eyes as she sought Thor, source of the noise, who was crumpling to his knees, eyes on the prisoner. He looked completely distraught, almost as bad as when he'd come across his mother's body, and Jane ached to hold him. Instead, Fandral and Volstagg each laid a hand on a burly shoulder, their own gazes locked on the spectacle across the room. Hogun was finally visible, too, near the front of a group of his fellow Vanites, arms folded tightly across his chest and expression as inscrutable as always.

"Where is Darcy?" Slurred a puzzled voice from Jane's right, cutting into the pregnant silence, and she winced, figuring Hoder was not one to readily accept theft of his "moment".

"What've you done with her, you devil?" Erik continued, undeterred, anger apparently overtaking surprise at the reappearance of the god who had stolen his volition over a year ago. The mortal man aimed his words at the mischief god, and was now struggling futilely against the grasp of a frost giant, apparently under orders to use no force for the moment.

"Yes, I believe we'd all like to know that, Laufeyson," Hoder called, hands clasped around the staff he didn't seem to need. "Where is the mortal wench who's caused so much trouble? I shall enjoy punishing her…" He paused to clear his throat, Loki making no response. "I'm sure you all agree, examples need to be made?" The councilman addressed the room with the question, waving a hand to encompass the audience. A few throats swallowed desperately, but no one actually answered. Darcy herself would have had a snappy response, Jane thought.

Movement directly behind Loki's bowed head had the astrophysicist's head whipping back in that direction, shoving a hand across her mouth when Loki's head jerked up to look right at her. But something was off, his head tilted to the side and his gaze strangely unfocused, as if he looked through her.

He was likely in a lot of pain, she dismissed with another thought, hand dropping from her mouth as nonchalantly as she could manage. Rolling her shoulders, Jane tried to step on her tiptoes and catch another glimpse of the elusive phantom Frigga.

This was so surreal. Maybe if she and Darcy got out of this alright, they'd go make a team of ghost hunters, say adios to SHIELD and all its drama. Thor could be the cameraman, Frigga their pilot episode. Erik could stick to something safe, like being their accountant. No field work.

Those plans were abandoned just as Hoder stepped forward without a sigh, resigned to his audience's disappointing cooperation. A dagger was slipped into his hand by a nearby Muspel. As if just remembering something, Hoder made a little ah! of acknowledgement, summoning a purple light to his hands and waving them over himself. The Hoder that stepped through the dying purple light was not standing so hunched in on himself, his eyes clear and focused on the prisoner kneeling before him. "Almost forgot that," he said with a bark of laughter. "Damned inconvenient to have been blind for centuries. A bit like being dead, I imagine, Laufeyson?"

Hagen blinked several times and shifted on his feet, apparently surprised by the emergence of a fresher, more able-bodied Hoder. Surtur as well, for he cast an uneasy glance at the head Jötun; it was clear the alliance had been made under different terms and assumptions.

Loki gave no sign that he had heard the elder, staring straight ahead at Hoder's knee-level as the man approached, the dagger grasped firmly in his left hand. "The thing about us," he crowed, moving behind Loki, "is that as near-immortals, we can endure so much damage." With that, he plunged the dagger into Loki's shoulder blade, but instead of a roar of pain and the grinding noise as metal met bone, Hoder lurched forward, surprised and off-balance as the image of Loki vanished altogether, empty chains toppling to the ground.

No one stirred as the previously-blind councilman slowly levered himself from the ground, shaking out his robes as if nothing had happened. "I did not see that coming," he muttered, the words only audible to himself, but a concession nonetheless.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was always a card up a sleeve, a dagger in a hidden sheath, an alternative brewing away in the cauldron of Loki's mind, as a maker of mischief, as the patron deity of such. It was true, chaos would reign without the presence of a king in Asgard; but Darcy Lewis had forgotten that he was the king of chaos, could conjure and bend it to his will.

The king, however, in a moment his pride would later attempt to strike from all record, had literally run straight into a garrison of Jötuns as he pursued Darcy. His panic at finding them instead of her rendered him motionless for a moment, a moment the frost giants took full advantage of, swarming him. He would laugh at this later, he told himself, over a fine ale, seated on his throne, preferably with the intern nearby, wearing a closely-tailored dress, or rather, nothing at all…As it was, the only consolation he received, his body aching from multiple blows, slices, and now being wrenched around like a dog on a leash, was that word was, Darcy Lewis was still out and about, free in the castle somewhere. And truth be told, he looked much worse than he felt, much of the blood and gore was falsified by illusion, to present him at a grave disadvantage and fully under their control while he plotted mutely.

The Muspel platoon that joined them kept to the rear of the company, Loki bloodied and chained coming next, and the Jötuns leading the way. He suspected they were rather the more loyal of the two groups, clamoring to suck up to dear old Hoder. He couldn't really blame them – he would have tired of banishment to a bland, icy wasteland for the lengthy duration of his existence, as well. You couldn't even build a proper snowman with the snow there – he'd tried.

The numerous bodies of Einherjar they passed, charred to crisps or frozen into gruesome icy shapes, all served as reminders that he had failed. He owed a loyalty to his guards just as they owed a certain kind to him as their king – former king – he wasn't sure anymore, and it may have been Darcy Lewis' words rattling around in his mind, but he felt he owed them. They'd given their lives in defense of the realm, and sacrifice of that nature could not go ignored.

As they passed a particularly mangled corpse, Loki found his purpose strengthened; he tried his bindings, finding them strengthened by something beyond their metal composition; how Hoder had been able to read magical texts to learn from them, he'd likely never know, but there were certainly enchantments on these chains. Breakable, but so annoying. Still, he started mouthing the incantations that would release the bonds.

His energy could be better spent on a tracking spell for the girl. Loki did not often give in to regret or indulge his conscience, but he found a small, mewling voice of guilt made itself heard in the back of his mind every so often, a voice that nagged at him as his mother would have. Like it or not, in committing to an alliance with the girl, he'd become responsible for her well-being. Mildly perturbed, he noted how disgustingly honorable he'd become, under the guise of Odin, as a leader; it was becoming alarming.

But as an ally, he was quite terrible. A great job he'd done to protect annoying, begrudgingly charming, loudmouthed, often unintentionally offensive, pleasing to the eye, strangely helpful, troublesome, Darcy Lewis, intern to Jane Foster, apparent weakness of Loki Laufeyson. Shaking his head clear of thoughts of the girl before they went distinctly inappropriate, Loki almost missed the strange shadow skittering along the walls.

Not within the constraints of a normal shadow, the patch of darkness seemed to be following them, slithering and writhing along the walls even in areas where no torch was placed to shed light and produce the shade. Loki's eyes narrowed as he tracked its movements; was he well and truly mad, finally? Seeing things? It wasn't his magic; he'd put up the illusion of bruises and blood and was working on his bonds, no more.

"It cannot be," Loki said aloud in disbelief and a sudden inspiration to distract. All he received in response was a sharp yank on the chain that led to a shackle around his neck, and he winced appropriately, scowling at the excited Jötun whose turn it'd been to administer punishment. Sadists, the lot, and he sadly saw where he received some of his more interesting attributes. His hands itched to tear at the metal around his neck, imagination running wild with thoughts of it tightening, but his hands were bound at waist-level, memories of his thirty-second trial at Odin's hands resurfacing unpleasantly.

To make use of his time while the strange shadow magic did its thing, he started laying out the structuring of the castle, in his head; where could Darcy Lewis hide, for long? Then it hit him; the intern, the boy who'd eaten the trap meant for Darcy. He was closeted away in the medical ward, where Eir reigned supreme, her compulsive nature meaning she was always throwing up the wards at the slightest hint of contagion spreading. Surely, she'd have activated the protective barriers, in tune with the palace activity as she was. If the mortal could make her way there, perhaps she'd have a chance. That was a strong 'if' in the girl's case, as Eir's domain was in the furthest reaches of the castle, even had a tower all its own.

He would make his way there as soon as he was free. When, not if. And if Darcy Lewis was anything less than intact, Hoder would pay dearly. Granted, he still would, for the throne was something he would have to pry from Loki's cold, actually-dead fingers, but Darcy was a different matter altogether.

He kept his eyes on the Jötuns in front of him – no easy task for his eyes, patrons of beauty as they were, for the backside of a Jötun was anything but magnetic, visually speaking.

All of a sudden, a Jötun in the middle of their ranks seemed to trip and fall, bringing down several around him. The ones in the rear held up hands to stop the procession's movements, and the frost giants struggled to regain their footing and see what had happened. A low murmur of horror spread among them, and as their ranks parted in momentary panic, Loki spotted a widening puddle of water glinting on the flagstone floor. All that remained of the random, unlucky Jötun. Loki wisely stepped off to the side for the inevitable fallout.

"What did you do, fire beasts?!" One Jötun snarled, and a taller one shushed it, moving instead to face the fire demons. "What just happened, Muspel scum?" This giant asked as if it was a different question, one fist clenching at its side as the other pointed at the tepid remnants of his foot soldier.

No love lost between these elemental beings, Loki observed, eyes flicking innocently between the two sides as they faced each other. Wouldn't take much to kindle that animosity to a full flame, would it?

As if on cue, one section of Loki's chains rattled, dropping to the floor with an ominous clank. Everyone paused, eyes now on the trickster who appeared as baffled as they were. "It was him," Loki said, straight-faced and thinking on his feet, pointing to the nearest Jötun. That spell had worked mercifully quicker than he'd expected. "Revenge for his friend, I'd imagine," he added, with the back of his hand shading his mouth, directing the words conspiratorially at the nearest Muspel, a few feet from him.

Thank the Norns for most of the universe's intellectual graces having been bestowed on Asgard, Loki thought. A small bit on Vanaheim. Okay, and a little more on Midgard, he conceded, as the Muspels' fiery hides seemed to brighten, the flames engulfing each of them a little more in enraged belief.

"You attempt to release the prisoner and blame us?" One asked, its voice threatening in that dead, crackly sort of way that was so disconcerting to hear. Loki was not going to correct the lack of logic in that statement – loss of him as a prize would end up with everyone dead, either way, likely. But the fire demon stalked forward, a hand flung out to the side as it gestured towards Loki. The Jötuns, for their part, looked appropriately confused and angered, their ranks closing as the Muspels' did the same. That left the Jötun commander and the advancing Muspel in No Man's Land by themselves, with Loki surreptitiously backing towards the wall of the now-very-tight hallway.

"We will present Hoder with Laufeyson, and be rewarded," the Muspel crackled. "We have no more need of your useless cooperation." With that, a blade of flame erupted from its hand, not unlike the pointed, icy slabs that the Jötuns often employed, and was plunging into the frost giant's midsection a moment later.

Chaos broke out, the fire demons' ranks threading into those of the Jötuns, and there was an awful sizzling noise, as a Muspel was extinguished by the frigid embrace of a frost giant.

"So that's how it works," Loki muttered, eyes downcast as he rapidly rid himself of the chains remaining on his person. The last gnarled section of metal dropped to the ground, its resounding clang muted by a quick spell. Another moment later, a faint green glimmer was dying away, a symptom of the illusions he practiced, and another Loki was standing, most of his restraints intact, unamusedly surveying the scuffle among his captors.

Loki took off running, three barks of rage behind him signaling that someone had not spotted the decoy yet. His vanity gave a throb of pain as he divested himself of the impressive but heavy trench coat he'd worn for the evening's festivities, the tailored masterpiece unfortunately a burden as he searched various pockets on the run. He'd only worn it for the girl, as it hadn't been planned for anyone else to see him tonight, but he thought it'd had the desired effect, at least.

A smile quirked his mouth upwards as he uncovered a set of miniature daggers from a pocket none of the demons would have been eager to check; they'd only given him a cursory pat-down, no less than eight blades at his throat while they did so, and he'd been disappointed they had not believed more up his sleeves.

A roar sounded from scant paces behind him just as Loki spotted a conveniently-placed window further down the corridor, the night sky lit innocently with stars beyond it. If memory served, that window would land him in some cushioning shrubbery after a fifty-something foot drop. If memory served. Taking the chance, the trickster made for the window, flinging three daggers with deadly precision before he was at the sill. One Muspel, two Jötuns, all of his pursuers downed, he noted with some satisfaction. He'd never actually killed a Muspel, and was pleased to know a blade to the eye socket would kill just about anything.

Without pause he flattened a palm over the stone windowsill. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered, nevertheless flipping himself over the edge effortlessly. Too late he recalled a conference with the Asgardian groundskeepers, in which he possibly remembered a very pompously-worded Odin threatening a gardener with bodily harm unless he removed the "atrocious" hedges marring his palace, before the negotiations commenced.

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Boobs were the plight of every heroine ever, but the movies wouldn't tell you that, Darcy Lewis thought indignantly, in between ragged gasps of breath. Nope, Megan Fox running around in a skimpy cami and push-up bra was made to look soooo do-able, but with Darcy's rack, at least, good luck escaping the aliens or murderer. An arm flattened across her heaving chest, Darcy flung herself flat against the wall after rounding one last corner. Muninn circled above her head, quiet for once. She almost sank to her knees with a "Hallelujah!" at the sight of the creamy marble archway signifying Eir's domain.

She would later thank herself for not doing that, as it would have left her at an awkward disadvantage; a pair of Muspels rounded a corner at the other end of the hall, and promptly spotted her, Enemy of The State. Maybe there were WANTED posters hanging around that she could snatch as a souvenir.

Darcy could honestly admit later that in that moment, she considered surrendering, both for a longer chance to catch her breath and also for the chance to have a neighboring cell to Loki's. No, a shared one, he could probably make that happen. Because hell, if the world was ending and this was all futile, some hanky-panky in one of the nicer Asgardian cells might make it a little more bearable.

Banishing her girly desires to their own cell in the back of her mind for the moment, Darcy instead heaved her body forward, towards the archway. "Eir!" She screeched, cursing loudly a moment later when her hands jammed into some sort of invisible barrier. It was swell and all that the area was gated or whatever, but that hurt, and she needed in. Explained why Muninn was perched on the edge of an ornate archway across the hallway, judging her failure with his beady little eyes. Darcy rolled her own in return when she spotted him, turning back to the entryway.

"Eir, it's Darcy Lewis!" She screamed, a sob working its way in towards the end. "They're coming-!"

The next thirty seconds of her life, Darcy Lewis would forever wish were wiped from her mental slate of memories, because she fell flat on her face after a muted popping noise banished the clear warding. Drops of blood marred the nice shiny marble as she was unceremoniously dragged past the ward's edge, Darcy trying to stem her now-bleeding nose with the sleeve of the leather jacket Loki had put on her. Leather didn't work as well as a knitted material for staunching blood flow, she now knew. A crackling noise signaled the barrier going back up, Muninn casually flapping his way in at the last minute, the feathered punk. She didn't look back to see if the pursuing Muspels were now awkwardly pressed against the barrier, staring after her, but she had the sense they were glaring daggers.

Finally looking up from her bloodied nostrils, her cheeks red from their own embarrassment, Darcy met the large, doe eyes of an assistant of Eir's. She instantly made a note to ask the girl how she did her hair, and if she could do it to Darcy's, 'cuz that braid was killer, but Lady Eir herself was approaching. Her face as serious as the first time they'd met, an apron was tied across the head healer's fancy robes. It was pristine, not like the bloodied aprons you saw in Civil War or Pearl Harbor movies, and Darcy was glad. That would have been gross.

"Darcy Lewis," Eir intoned slowly, something else behind the name – respect, amazement, approval? Perhaps Darcy was flattering herself, because the magical doctor's next words were not good. "I hear Loki has been our false king for months, and that you are his mortal consort, come here to lay waste to Asgard whilst we are off our guard, feasting and drunkenly brawling."

Her words were so serious that Darcy, who'd been handed a pristine white silky handkerchief to soil with her nose blood, removed the material from her now-stimmied nostrils, waving it about like the proverbial white flag. "Hang on a second-"

"None of which any of us believe," Eir added on crisply, twitching her sleeves back with a familiar efficiency, beckoning to Darcy to follow her. About that consort status, though; given half a chance…Darcy thought guiltily, following Eir. Muninn seemed to have abandoned ship for the moment, staying in the first room as the nurse aid tempted him with some bits of bread from a little dish.

"Hoder has appointed himself our dictatorial savior and spread all manner of lies through the kingdom now. We have nothing with which to compare, but fortunately I was not appointed Head Healer before it was ascertained I could tell when a patient is concealing a tablet of medicine under their tongue rather than swallow it. Hence, the wards."

It was a lengthy parallel, but Darcy would take it, if it meant this powerful woman was on her side. Eir led her to Ian's bedside. "I figured I would lay your mind to rest about this particular patient before we discuss further plans."

Darcy's own intern was still as pale as he'd been when he ate the shady pear, two days ago now, but he still looked to be sleeping peacefully. "No word on the magic that did this?" Darcy asked, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

"We suspect a poison amplified by magic, since neither antidotes nor healing spells make much progress on their own," Eir said stiffly, clearly unused to a lack of success. "The original caster might be the only hope."

"This Hoder guy, probably?" Darcy asked, smoothing her hand over the creases in Ian's blanket. Eir nodded at her over the bed, toying with the cloud of diagnostic spells that was constantly streaming over Ian.

"Loki's abilities could be sufficient, if he were to put his mind to it," Eir said suddenly, softly and without malice. "That boy never cared much for healing once he grew up, preferring his little destructive bouts of mischief, but he used to have quite a talent in that region of magic." Darcy met her eyes in time to see a slight waggle of one delicate brow.

It was clear the lady's intent was solely to heal, not to judge or condemn. She was only interested in her patient's outcome, not who was on the throne. Darcy cleared her throat. "So now that Loki's, uh, out of the Odin-closet and about…"

"Captured by Hoder, we understand," Eir corrected resignedly, leaving off with the hovering spells and waving to an adjoining room. "Join me when you are ready." That left the intern alone with the intern's intern, and Darcy wasn't sure what to do. Pledge her undying love and straddle the mattress? Not bloody likely, she thought, her inner thoughts snarled by a voice that sounded suspiciously like Loki's.

"Can you hear if I talk to you, or do magical comas have special rules," Darcy murmured softly, poking out solely her pointer finger and jabbing Ian's cheek softly with the digit. "C'mon, wake up Intern, I need my sidekick, even if you make things awkward as all hell."

There was no reaction, and she left off poking the helpless young man, settling for playing with the zipper of her jacket, fastening it up, then down, then up again before finally sighing loudly. "I'm not gonna profess my love or kiss you, sleeping beauty," she said, wrinkling her nose. "You make a hell of an intern, though, Ian. I'm real sorry you ate a magical evil pear meant for me."

She let the silence extend, the first remotely-peaceful moment she'd had all day, before it was time to get moving. "I have a day to save, so…" She made to leave, a pang of guilt turning her on her heel to press a chaste kiss to Ian's pale cheek. "That's all you get."

If the monitoring spells clouded above Ian started to swirl more vigorously, if a strange breeze seemed to blow through the room, Darcy didn't notice it, hands shoved in her pockets as she moved to meet Eir in the next room.

It turned out to be a library of sorts, shelves of medical books and healing spells lining the walls. Darcy swore she saw a hardcover of one of Dr. Oz's books, even. Eir was standing at a sort of podium, a wide volume spread open in front of her, pages filled with scrawled runes and Muninn perched on the edge, head cocked as if the bird was reading. The girl couldn't make heads or tails of it, content to pace the room and scan for any legible titles while Eir finished what she was doing.

"It is rather a shame, to see the might of the Golden Realm tarnished by such happenings as these," Eir murmured gravely, and Darcy turned to raise her brows in question.

"This is the grand record of patient treatment in Asgard's history," the healer continued, "Every scratch that required our help, every ailment that struck at the ranks of the Aesir. There is no mention of Hoder's blindness here, in all of the longevity of these records…"

Darcy felt she had missed something, but that this information was gravely important. "Now might not be the best time for a history lesson, but could you tell me who this guy is…?" It appeared this conspiracy had spread worse than Laura Calhoun's STDs in senior year, into the heart of Asgard itself. She knew nothing of Jötuns and Muspels; apparently everyone but her had come to the conclusion they couldn't have planned this by themselves.

"A detailed summation would take centuries, my dear, and that would only encompass a fraction of the years Hoder has walked Asgard's halls," Eir said, a hint of fatigue audible in her voice for the first time. "He is an elder member of the Council, and was trusted for many years as a near right-hand confidante of Odin's. Only Frigga and Thor were held in higher esteem." She turned a page of the massive book, absently smoothing the aged parchment, and Darcy was painfully conscious of Loki's name absent from Odin's inner circle. "He was blinded in his youth, consigned to the council chamber nearly straight from the battle in which the injury occurred. Powers of miraculous foresight emerged soon after his loss of physical vision, or at least, it was told. The Frost Giants were the foe, but they would not remember him as he is now."

"So he was wounded but not really blinded," Darcy murmured, trying to keep up. "Reappeared as part of the high counsel…There was some sort of cover-up or something?"

"None of us were the wiser in regards to any of this, Lady Darcy," Eir said, carefully closing the large tome she handled. "But it appears so."

"Sounds to me like the coward's way out of the fight and straight into the king's ear," Darcy said, cutting through the issue and pacing along the bookshelves lining the room. She was sharper than most people gave her credit for, Loki, Jane, SHIELD, old college professors all included, and it struck her suddenly that her tactical brilliance would go unseen by those who mattered, back on earth.

Shaking off the thought, she hurried to explain her train of thought to Eir. "We have people on Earth – er, Midgard, who have tried all sorts of shenanigans to avoid the draft and stuff in wartime," she said, missing the look of impressed respect the healer cast her way. "There's no way Odin could miss something like this, though, right?"

"Correct, although we are now of course aware it has not been him governing Asgard from the throne for some months. This is not my area of expertise, I have always tended to leave courtly matters to the court, but…In any case, you raise several disconcerting issues, my child, and I fear what may come to light if Hoder succeeds, or even if he is defeated."

"Well, the old cyclops is still alive, so I guess we'll know as soon as I find a way to kick Hoder's butt," Darcy muttered under her breath. "I guess it's a safe assumption that Sif attacking me was Hoder's doing?"

"There would be no one better suited to convincing a mind like Sif's of the righteousness of Hoder's own plan," Eir conceded. "With his vision gone, Hoder honed his verbal skills finely. Odin often let him give the speeches at feasts."

"I'll bet he did," Darcy said with a grimace. "That sort like to toot their own horn, huh?"

Eir had turned to pull down a scroll from the shelf behind her, splaying it across a table and weighing down the corners with various bottles and beakers. "It is not much, but clerical error over the years has resulted in several aged maps ending up in my library," she offered with a rueful smile. "There may be something useful here…"

Darcy moved forward to take a look, but Muninn suddenly cut past her, cawing loudly and heading through to the receiving rooms. Darcy raised a brow in imitation of Eir. "Better than a doorbell," she said with a shrug, following the bird to see who the latest visitor was.

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Nursing what should have been a broken leg, and was instead merely a bruised shin, Loki slipped through the darkened castle grounds, the grace of his movements not lessened much by the injury. He would harbor a fiercer fondness for greenery in the future though, he swore to himself, if he ever reclaimed the throne. Avoiding dramatic leaps out of windows would be another wise improvement; there had not even been any attractive mortals around to witness his "badassery", as he'd heard Darcy Lewis dub it before.

It was now the dead of night, colored lanterns lit along the garden paths in commemoration of Lithasblot the only lights he had to move by. Luckily, Muspels tended to be fairly visible in the dark. He daren't risk any more magical expenditure, saving his abilities for the next inevitable confrontation with splinters of Hoder's army. He used the term sparingly, as he'd seen just how easily their forces chipped apart, but Asgard was taken, in any case, and he intended to pry it back with all of his wiles.

He had yet to hear word of Heimdall, and how he had fared against Sif, and that worried him. Surely the watchman hadn't fallen. Where, then, was he?

He finally made it to the edge of the courtyard, absently cursing whoever had planned out the Asgardian royal grounds like a layer cake. Each section was like its own castle, culminating in at least an acre of fenced gardens and foliage before a sheer drop led to the next level. He was at the border now, forced to edge his way along the golden wall until a sentry gate granted him access to the top of the wall. He estimated himself closer than he'd first thought to the medical wards; a dark shape that loomed to his right looked to be the tower.

Several dull thuds overhead signaled something large coming closer, and Loki pressed his lithe form to the wall, eyes focused overhead. A flickering light, likely a torch held by a Jötun, approached, with it the grating tones of one of the beasts.

"Hoder killed them all," it said, and it sounded surprised, insofar as Jötuns could show tone. "No mercy, no room for failure under his reign, he said."

The frost giant must have had a companion, for another voice spoke up. Loki recognized it immediately as Angrboða's, her tones much smoother than the average giant's. "Yes, Annar, I was there. And we are now all his dogs, to beaten and petted as he sees fit," the giantess spat bitterly, the light from the pair crossing straight over Loki's position. "Does my Lord Hagen now see the flaws in his agreement with the liar?"

"He seeks your counsel, Mistress," the one called Annar continued, his voice now further away. "He knows not how to extricate himself safely." Angrboða made a noise of derision, and the light died away.

Interesting.

Loki waited a moment more, peeling himself from the wall to examine where he was again. The walls were perhaps thirty feet high in mortal measurements, a hop and skip for him if he were to use magic. Sighing overdramatically, he hastily spelled a patch of ivy that had managed to survive in the wall's brickwork, strengthening and extending it into a rudimentary ladder. These embarrassing antics would not go into any Asgardian history books, he would make sure; Asgard would remember his exemplary diplomatic skills. And his hair. He made these decision as he climbed, finally heaving himself over the battlements and onto a now-mercifully bare stretch of the ramparts.

It was not an encouraging view, the panorama visible from this vantage point; Asgard's lower levels burned sporadically below him, thick plumes of black smoke visible against the fires that birthed them. Heart heavy, Loki set a hand atop a stone battlement, green eyes dancing with reflections of the fires that he may as well have lit himself. But there was nothing more for it, he told himself, swinging away and starting a sprint along the stone barrier.

A covered stairway turret finally presented itself, the last hurdle, but as Loki ducked inside, a shower of icy darts slammed into the wall beside the doorway, shattering on impact. Risking a glance backwards, he spotted only one frost giant, plowing towards him. It wasn't sounding any alarms, the dim-witted fool, and Loki had an idea.

Swiftly mounting the curved staircase of the turret, which was open-edged except for the wall on one side, he summoned one more dagger from the depths of his tunic. Instead of breezing through that exit, he crouched at the pinnacle of the stairs, waiting. It just wouldn't do to lead any more enemies to his destination than he had to, and the coward in him deemed one-on-one combat just easy enough to deal with.

The Jötun paused when it entered, the door-less turret leaving the creature wide open to attack. Loki let gravity take him, plunging down the height of the tower he'd just ascended, dagger plunging into the base of the giant's neck with the sort of groan cracking ice makes.

The body dropped like a boulder, Loki sliding neatly from its wide shoulder blades to the ground. He decided he preferred their deaths by heat, the frost giants; this was far too messy. Grimacing, he yanked his dagger from the corpse's neck with such force that the head severed completely, rolling onto its side. Loki banished the sight with a conjured flame spell, wiping the dagger clean with a piece of fabric the Jötun left behind.

Climbing the stairs he'd climbed a moment before, Loki took his time, listening intently after every few steps for any potential pursuers. There was nothing; it was quiet, far too quiet for his liking, and a chill worked its way down his spine as he reached the top of the stairs. He regained the inner halls of the palace without further trouble, the darkened hallways ominous in a way they had never been to one who had loved lurking in the shadows.

Shaking off the feeling and enunciating his swagger as he approached the white-marbled corridor that represented the medical quarters, Loki was pleased to sense the slight buzzing in the air that meant the wards were in place. He strolled up to the wards, rapping smartly at the place where he sensed the barrier began. Luckily, the light marble eagerly reflected light, and he snapped his fingers, lighting several wall-ensconced torches that had been extinguished. This felt more like the palace he knew, even if this was only three percent of it.

The entryway curved sharply once you were past the wards, so he couldn't tell who was in the air, but soon, the familiar black feathers of Muninn were gleaming in the dull light as the bird landed before him. Loki tipped his head in respectful acknowledgement, eyes raising to meet the brilliant blue of Darcy Lewis'.

"Fancy meeting you here," she shot at him after the wards' disablement meant she could be heard. "I feel like I'm on a blind date, not knowing who's coming or when, though."

He thought he understood the reference, shooting her a quick grin. It was quickly smothered when he entered the main chamber, nurses scurrying around, Eir standing in the midst of it all, coolly appraising him as he approached.

"Lady Eir," he drawled, managing an elaborate, sweeping bow. "If I had a hat to remove…"

"Please, don't trouble yourself," Eir said, moving forward to thump several scrolls into Darcy's surprised grasp. Turning without warning and sweeping back into her study, she paused to call back over her shoulder at the intern. "You'll want to update each other, I imagine; there is an empty room down the hall and to your right." Darcy flicked a hasty salute of thanks at Eir, then looked sheepishly at Loki.

"Call me Joan of Arc. I'm sorta in charge here," she said by way of explanation. "They're kinda like the nuns back home – all willing to help and feed and everything, but completely clueless."

Loki just raised a brow mutely as Darcy led the way down the hall, the raven joining them a moment later, landing on Loki's shoulder.

"I realize I don't have the shoulder breadth to make an adequate perch, but you don't have to be that rude about it, Money," Darcy said, once she'd settled on a cushioned bench in what looked like Eir's private receiving rooms. She plopped the numerous bundles of parchment and scrolls on a table before her. Loki blinked, before realizing she was speaking to the raven. "And don't you flatter yourself either," she said with a scowl in Loki's direction, folding her arms. "So, last I heard, you were in the stockades, or something. Wanna explain?"

"Asgard is falling and you're concerned with the trifling details of my escape?" Loki asked with an offended sniff. "Did you doubt me?"

"I don't doubt how slimy you are, nope," Darcy said with a wide smile. "I bet it had something to do with magic, so never mind. Have you heard from Heimdall? Is Jane okay? Thor? Everyone?"

"Do you think I've had time to peruse my social media stream whilst on the run from frost giants and Muspels, all intent on my death?" Loki demanded, folding himself onto a bench opposite hers. Darcy's mouth dropped open at his words, and he nodded. "The Allfather historically has reason to visit Midgard, and why should I not as well? I find the Yelp program very helpful in eatery decisions…But I digress," he continued; Darcy looked near death from shock. "No, I have not. Last I saw, Heimdall was valiantly taking up the sword in defense of myself, against Sif. I did not make it back to the ball room, but I suspect they're all intact; Hoder will want to lure us out when he finds a shade in my place."

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"Evil usurper of Asgard's throne…hashtagging?" Darcy managed, her lip curled up comically as she lingered on that topic. She suddenly shook her head, her mane of chocolate locks flying askew before settling on her shoulders again. "Right, well, other than a brief biography on Hoder, I've learned…Not really anything, besides we're screwed. Also, your mother is haunting me, us, or the castle or something, but that fact is proving irrelevant until I'm in a bind. Muninn can be bribed with carbs. And, Eir is a pretty awesome lady." She was ticking off immaterial points one after the other on one hand, when Loki was suddenly behind her, his fingers stilling her own.

His fingers were nice, she decided, long and pale and chilly but dry, not clammy like Ian's or that neighbor dude in Puente Antiguo. A moment later his other hand was around her waist, pulling her to him with a grip that burned through layers of cotton and leather. He made a soft shushing noise, the sound of which was incredibly sexy to her adrenaline-pumped, over-stimulated self, and then his mouth was covering hers, effectively silencing her.

Her fingers scrabbled against the material stretched across his shoulders, the leather and cottonlike fabric now curiously familiar as she clutched at him. Legends were told about this tongue, she reminded herself, fully intent on enjoying the stolen moment. When they finally separated at a caw from Muninn, neither was breathing steadily, and Loki's hair was as ruffled as Darcy's.

"If that's how you shush, I'm gonna start reciting the pledge of allegiance more than I ever did in school," Darcy managed after a moment, sweeping a hand back through her hair in an attempt to tame it back. "And the preamble to the Constitution, and each amendment…"

"At least make it something useful, like troop divertion tactics," Loki murmured, tightening the gauntlets around his wrists, back to business already. There would be time for more of that when he had a throne back.

"Ohhhhh say can you seeeeeee-" Darcy started, Loki's hand clamping gently across her mouth a moment later to halt her off-key screeching. "That is your national anthem, I believe."

He was full of surprises, the surly intern noted a moment later as he inspected the combined contents of their pockets, holding the lip gloss up to the light curiously.

"Not a flattering shade for you, in my opinion," he observed clinically. "Borrowed from Lady Jane?"

"If you must know, yes, my luggage situation is haphazard at best ever since I prevented your assassination and mine and subsequently had to change rooms-" Darcy snapped, swiping the cosmetic back from him.

"I owe you my life," Loki suddenly said, hands now empty and hanging limply across his knees. The inactivity seemed to bother him, and he rose, pacing across the room to a window that looked down on the ramparts. "I'm not certain I properly thanked you for that, but as you can see, it's a vital resource of the realm."

She couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. "As shown by your propensity to fake your death," she muttered, still annoyed about the lip gloss as she picked through a pile of papers, landing on one that showed the underground schematics of the palace.

"It may yet be a truth," Loki declared, shooting her a winning smile over his shoulder as he leaned casually against the stone framework of the window. "We have company."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, sorry for the brief hiatus. It was necessary.
> 
> I'd like to express how flattered I am that even Guest users have taken the time to come out of the woodwork and review in support of this story. You're all great!
> 
> I'm furiously researching Hel as she is depicted in mythology, and I'm very stoked to attempt my version of her character.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the support on here and on FFN. Enjoy chapter 11, a little lengthier in recompense for my absence.

"That thank-you was just another plot, meant to lull me into a false sense of accomplishment and worth, wasn't it?" Darcy grumbled, as she was firmly steered away from the window. Loki had darted out of the room after seeing something, and she'd headed straight for the sill. But she hadn't even managed a glimpse of what lay outside before Loki's fingers were curled around her shoulders, ushering her back out of the room they'd sequestered themselves in. She managed to swipe several handfuls of the parchment covered in palace schematics as she was whisked by, the aged paper rustling in protest as it crumpled in her grip. A little light reading material, just in case.

"Nonsense," was Loki's airy reply. "I'm certain Asgard appreciates your assistance in regaining peace and harmony and sovereign propriety." She could hear his stupid grin in his stupid voice.

"I think a certain deposed monarch is afraid to admit he is totally indebted to a mere mortal tourist," she grumbled, adjusting the papers in her arms. Muninn abruptly landed on her shoulder, but she paid him no mind. "Where are you taking me?" It looked like they were just heading back to the main receiving rooms of the medical ward. Eir's minions had made themselves scarce, though, and it looked like even some of the furniture had abruptly disappeared.

She was suddenly whipped around, Loki's slender fingers bringing her face close to his. "Do you trust me?" He breathed. Darcy was breathless with proximity and the serious tone he was using, eyes flitting back and forth as she wondered if there was a correct response. She settled for what she hoped was a suave swerve. "I trust that you're not exactly the most trustworthy dude on the block and I'm not sure I'd have you pet-sit for me, but…"

He nodded crisply, all business as he apparently deemed that sufficient. "I need you to conceal yourself," he murmured, "in here." He opened a side door in the main chamber that hadn't been there a moment before. But Darcy paused, turning with comical slowness to raise a brow in skepticism.

"You want me," she murmured slowly to confirm what she was hearing, "to hide in the closet?! Are we suddenly in a B-horror movie? Am I being stereotyped for my chest size-"

"Which is admirable, really, Lady Darcy, but I must insist. You're my ace in the hole, you see, as I believe they say on Midgard. I'm about to have a very cautious conversation." Without further ado, Loki's arms slipped around her waist and he lifted her bodily, ignoring her squeals, depositing her in the room and shutting the door with a locking spell. "You'll be able to hear, and I need you to do it carefully," he called, knowing she could fully hear him.

Loki swept towards the medical warding, shooting a nod at Eir who had appeared. With an answering nod, she closed the double doors leading to the rest of the rooms retracting her shielding spells to make the room Loki stood in accessible. If this should go wrong, there would be something to hold them off.

He swung open the door, bowing graciously despite his less-than-classy attire, still in a tunic and trousers from his earlier escapades. The air was already growing chillier as none other than Angrboða swept inside, sporting a heavier fur mantle than she'd had on earlier. Loki's eyes narrowed at that, as two other frost giants followed, both of whom actually bowed courteously at him before moving to flank the more petite Jötun. "Not here to kill me, then? No weapons drawn? Or will that happen as soon as I turn my back?"

"Loki," Angrboða said reproachfully, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. "How could you think such a thing? I'm here in peace." Desperation, more like, Loki thought. But he supposed the tables had turned, for all of them, and that old saying about the enemy of my enemy...It was an alliance strategy he'd long employed.

"Angie," he murmured noncommittally, using the old pet name just to annoy her, remembering too late that Darcy Lewis was listening to the conversation. He might have imagined it, but he swore he heard a scoff and could sense an eye-roll.

"I've come here to ask for your help." She cut straight to the point, thankfully. "Hagen has covertly relinquished control of the Frost Giants and requested I take over, at least until we are extricated from this disaster he has wrought. Hoder is not as pliable as he seemed when he was but a blind, crumpled old man."

Loki's arms folded across his chest as he leaned against a snow-white marble pillar and tried not to laugh. His eyes were half-hooded but their green irises were taking in everything about this trio. Body language said regret, reluctance, resignation. Angrboða's expression said she had a bribe, something that would work in his favor, or she wouldn't be here.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, freeing a hand from his chest to roll it in a hurrying motion. "Let's have it, then. What have you got in mind, Angie?"

"The Jötun have been sorely deceived by Hoder. Never mind that this could have been foreseen by anyone other than our leader- former leader, " Angrboða scowled, "-but the past cannot be undone. Our people no longer wish to be part of an alliance with a liar who only wants Asgard's throne and would have us as servants, keeping the treasures for himself. In exchange for forgiving our…transgression in allying with Hoder, we would see you reclaim the throne. Flawed as your own claims are." She huffed the last words indignantly, and Loki was amused by her ire leaking into her capitulation.

He was also relieved she hadn't given him away to the Muspels or Hoder; this had been a gamble that had certainly paid off since he'd spotted them making their way along the bridge leading to Eir's domain. Still, he skipped around the proposal. "My golden-haired man-child of a brother would not suffice? He is the rightful heir, after all, and the 'good one'," he drawled, examining the nails of one hand while the other made air quotation marks at the last words.

"He is firstly, imprisoned and being watched with the utmost attention the Muspels can scrounge up, at the moment," Angrboða said impatiently, "and second, we have seen how Asgard thrived under your rule in the interim since Odin's…absence. And another throne transition in the midst of this upheaval would only be harmful."

"And what if I no longer seek to rule Asgard? If you're actually just catching me on my way out?" Loki asked with a raised brow, making a show of rapping his knuckles along the wall as if seeking a passage.

Angie was not fooled. "You seek Asgard's well-being, and have its best interests at heart these days," she said shortly, "No matter what you claim. And to be honest, we are in sore need of your cunning. Our plans did not extend past recruiting your help." Her blue skin was suddenly tinged with a darker navy color, a blush of embarrassment.

"I imagine it's hard to hold council with Hoder a few paces away," Loki said gently, letting her off the hook in a surprising move. "As long as you do not care which allies I bring to the table."

A thumping noise had Angrboða's angular brow raising and the Jötuns going for their blades, but Loki just cleared his throat, twirling a finger towards the door he'd closeted Darcy in. "That was her cue, I suppose." The intern toppled out, one fist still raised, scrawled blueprints cascading from her other.

"Aw craaapp," she keened, dropping to her knees and shuffling through the browned pages. "The one I had - Look what you've done, stupid trickster man – " Every supernatural being in the room was staring mutely at her, Muninn included, who had alighted on Loki's shoulder after being freed from what had surely been miserable, close quarters with an annoyed Darcy Lewis.

"Aha!" Darcy declared triumphantly, raising a mangled page and shaking it. As if remembering herself, she stopped short, her plump lips opened on a gasp of surprise as she spotted the Jötuns. "'Scuse me," she mumbled, sketching some hasty attempt at a hybrid between a bow and a curtsy. "Darcy Lewis. Intern, brilliant strategist, overall useful human to have around, really. Would not make a good popsicle," she ended nervously, edging towards Loki as she eyed the giants. She'd read some stuff.

"The mortal girl," Angrboða said slowly in sudden recognition, eyes narrowing, her voice deepened with wonder as she stared at the intern. Abruptly, Loki was in front of the girl, folding his arms across his chest with a deep frown. "No harm comes to her, Angie. She's proven helpful and I am running low on support, as it were." The giantess read more into his words than he had intended, but her red eyes widened when her scrutiny was finished, and she nodded gravely. "She is highly sought after, your mortal," was all she said in reply, whisking across the room to examine the warding across the connecting passage's double doors. "She fascinates Hoder."

Loki didn't like the sound of that, his unease worsening when one of the Jötuns seemed incapable of removing its eyes from the girl's buxom form. "Gilling!" Angrboða's sharp tones rang out, and the crimson gaze finally dropped.

"Hoder was masquerading as the girl's maidservant, it may interest you to know," Angrboða then said conversationally, but too casually, obviously baiting. Loki didn't rise to take it, but his hands clenched into his biceps where they were folded. The old man would pay dearly for all of his intrusions.

Darcy Lewis was less subtle in her indignation. "What?!" The intern screeched, blanching at the implication. "That…that creep was dressing me?!" Her voice was nearing a wail, and Muninn again transferred shoulders to rub his head against her distraught temple. Loki would have offered…something of comfort, himself, would it not give the Jötuns an advantage in this moment.

"And now that you see how freely I offer information, do we have an alliance?" Angrboða continued, finishing her circuit of the room and ending up next to Loki, eyeing Darcy behind him and the raven's obvious affection for her. "You have always been able to rely on me in the past," she said softly, reaching up a dusky hand to trail it across Loki's jaw. "In our past," she added with a hint of sadness, fiery eyes dropping as her fingers tugged at a lock of shining ebony hair.

The giantess had always been quite the temptress, and the trickster had used her wiles as much as she'd ever used his, but this time he took a step back, pivoting to face the mortal girl instead. Angrboða's teeth showed in a brief, silent snarl of frustration that only Darcy could see, before Loki's hands were on her own forearms, trailing up them in a very distracting manner before taking the paper in her hands.

"You've found something?" He asked, scanning the paper she'd been so anxious to show them. Darcy's anger at Hoder filtered away as tactics took over.

"I know it sounds cliché to attack from the basement and/or sewers – d'you guys have those, because it sure looks like it on these papers but I'd assume something so basely functional would somehow be annoying and disgraceful to have in a realm like Asgard - " Loki's stare cut off her chatter, and Darcy gestured impatiently at what he held, her index finger stabbing at a tiny passageway labeled near the medicine wards. "Some sort of disposal chute," she explained. "Don't ask me for what 'cuz I don't read runes but I dated an architecture student once and he was studying old French castles…There's no legend or key on these, but I mean, castles can only differ so much, I'd think…"

Loki was already turning to the new Jötun queen and her entourage. "Where has Hoder made his base?"

"The throne room, of course, but the atmosphere was anything but calm before we slipped away."

"How many strong are your forces, those you can skim off the forces in and around the throne without being noticed?"

"Not terribly many, I'm afraid," Angrboða conceded. "We were rather hoping you would have some clandestine plan involving a tiny covert crew or some other cowardly display." A younger Loki would have taken offense, but this one smiled slightly instead.

"What, instead you think I intend outright, honorable battle on a field with legions of soldiers lined up in tidy rows, waiting on my hand to wave and send them charging forward? Far too basic, far too dramatic even for my taste," Loki said with a scoff, shaking his head as his eyes traced the fading ink lines on the old document. "Far too Thor-esque, I should think. No, what we need is a distraction. If you can supply me a few platoons' worth, I can recruit you thousands in a matter of seconds." Green light skimmed between his fingers as he waggled them and his brows at Angrboða, who nodded in understanding.

"You are the king of distraction," Darcy Lewis muttered, rubbing at the sleeves of her leather jacket, through which she could still feel his touch. Muninn cawed in agreement.

"Speaking of, I have a task for our little feathered friend," Loki announced, turning back to Darcy and coaxing Muninn from her shoulder and onto his wrist. He paced away, green light emanating in little wisps from his fingers, intoning quietly to the raven. He ended at the entrance to the medical chambers, the temporarily-disabled warding allowing the black bird to take off swiftly into the palace corridors. Loki brushed off his hands absentmindedly, staring after it. "Espionage is now the currency of the realm, it seems. The historians are going to need to edit this period heavily to preserve Asgard's honor."

Darcy was sputtering at Muninn's exit. "Where did you just send my- our- the bird?" she demanded, fear flooding her as her feathered friend winged off into danger. Loki gave her an indecipherable look. "He has been my companion for centuries, and he is only doing a little reconnaissance."

Silenced for the moment, Darcy just frowned. The Jötuns were watching the exchange with interest, and she glared at the three of them. When Loki moved within range, she poked him in the shoulder, having the feeling anyone else would have had their hand removed for such an action. "So where do we sign our agreement in blood with these guys? I'll settle for no less if I'm to be making secret deals with turncoats in a magical feudal realm."

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The theatrics were already getting old; then again, theatrical villainy had been old to Jane Foster ever since she'd watched Loki's antics in New York, on an ancient television set in a Norwegian lab that was more antiquated museum than functional scientific facility.

Hoder had dismissed many of the ball's attendees to carry on life as usual, with instructions to several soldiers to "patch up" the damage they'd caused in the overtaking of the streets. Jane still had nightmares sometimes, about the Aether, about the destruction in the Asgardian streets, about the royal Asgardian blood pooled on palace flooring that had all been her fault. She would likely have more to look forward to after this "vacation".

Hoder had assembled the remaining prisoners-slash-guests-of-honor in the throne room, having settled on the grand chair himself, trying to hold a macabre semblance of court. Gungnir was in his hands, having been supplied by one of the Jötuns of the platoon who had lost Loki, and subsequently been executed by blasts from the very same spear. She'd hoped it functioned like Mjölnir, choosing its wielder by merit, but hell, if Loki could use it, anyone could, she supposed.

The Warriors Three and several other loyalists had been apparently escorted to the dungeons and hopefully not executed outright; maybe something could yet be done to thwart Hoder. She felt useless in the current situation, hands itching to build a gadget that could teleport them all away or to peruse an ancient tome that held all the answers. Books and gadgets over political power struggles any day for Jane Foster.

She was glad they were no longer in the ballroom, at least; the harmless-looking liquid on the floor in the ballroom and a few patches of charred stone were the lingering signs of the demons' executions on the spot. Hoder was showing himself to be both ruthless and also an untrustworthy deal-breaker, if the Muspels' and Jötuns' identical expressions of uncertainty were any indicator.

Hoder was discussing something with Surtur when the throne room doors banged open with the impact of a body thrown against them. When they gave way, the limp form slumped to a stop a few paces into the room, and Jane gasped, a hand moving to her mouth. Thor, who was now chained like a dog in a round-topped cage near her, let out a roar of rage.

It was Heimdall, bloodied, bruised, and hopefully only unconscious. His helmet had been removed or knocked off during whatever fight had left him like this, and he looked strangely small and feeble without it.

Sif stalked into the room with purposeful strides, moving right up to Heimdall to prop a booted foot against his armored back. "I present you with the traitorous gatekeeper, my lord. He did indeed rise to defend that usurper." The female warrior looked to have had difficulty subduing the watcher, though; blood streamed from a cut across her forehead, her black hair was ruffled and it looked as though several locks had been shorn off, and her chest was heaving with panted breaths. Her expression suddenly altered, though, brows furrowing through the dripping blood as she noticed Thor, caged and off to the side. "Thor…?" Her eyes flicked back to Hoder, sprawled comfortably on the throne. "Why has he not taken command?"

"He has been a naughty boy, my dear," Hoder hedged, waving his hand casually as he rose from the throne to descend to floor level. He looked like he wanted to skip. "But at last, some success! Seems a few more devout Asgardians would have been more useful than these elemental rabble, after all." He glared at Surtur and Hagen, who both looked simultaneously abashed and infuriated at the blatant insult to their capabilities. "Now, my Lady Sif, if you could only fetch me the serpent-tongued fiend or his little consort, whom were your true mission…"

"Why is Thor imprisoned?" Sif snapped, cutting him off and clearly not letting the issue drop, leaving Jane wondering what exactly had been said to get the sword-wielding lady on board with Hoder's plan. That Thor would take the rightful throne, probably. Why did no one understand he didn't want it anymore?

"Thor did not take kindly to our unseating of his scoundrel brother, and does not wish the throne, milady," Hoder said mildly, rubbing a hand across his chin as he came to a stop a few paces away and surveyed Heimdall's condition. The watcher was coming around, groaning and twitching. Sif removed her boot, one hand moving to her sword cautiously, the battered shield across her other arm raising in front of her slightly.

"He is caged like an animal," she spat, eyes narrowed. "What…"

Jane took the plunge. "Thor never knew about any of this! We're all just…just captured!" She screamed, wishing for better eloquence in times of need. Instead, she waved at Sif frantically to keep the warrior's attention until a Jötun moved forward to clap a too-large hand over her face, nearly suffocating her. Thor called out her name, slamming his body against the cage bars in a futile attempt to get to her.

Sif's eyes shot to Jane, her gaze clearing in what was hopefully a rude awakening and realization. She fully drew her sword with a metallic ring, backing away from Hoder as Muspels closed rank in a wide circle around her. "What is happening here?" She demanded again, eyes flitting from one enemy to the next. "Hoder, what have you done?"

"I have done nothing that was not planned, Sif," Hoder said with a sigh, waving forward two Muspels, who started tugging Heimdall towards the throne dais. "Although I had hoped this ending to our partnership would be unnecessary. I had truly hoped you would accept my altered terms a little more compliantly than I had foreseen, but it appears not to be so. Another point to my inner sight!" He clapped a few times to himself before continuing.

"You lied to me," Sif snarled through gritted teeth. "You spoke of righting wrongs, of restoring the integrity of our realm, when you only wanted it to be yours. How are you any different from Loki? Have you no honor at all? Has serving alongside Odin for millennia shown you nothing?"

"That impetuous righteousness, girl. Tsk. I'm very sorry, but that's going to prove a liability. You're more familiar with Jötun combat than with Muspels, am I correct? Nothing like a little practice with the rustier skill sets before meeting Hel in the afterlife!"

"Sif!" Thor roared suddenly, realizing Hoder's intention and banging at the magically-enhanced cage that made it impossible to summon Mjölnir or smash his way out. Instead, the cage was comically locked with a mortal padlock and key, the bars fortified with enchantments. "Sif, run! Save yourself!" The warrior seemed to lock eyes with him for a moment, nodding slowly, gravely, apologetically, before she began pivoting to keep the demons in sight.

Jane had a terrible feeling she'd seen a scene like this in a movie somewhere, and was glad she couldn't recall completely. Sif was almost out of sight, the demons closing in so tightly around her. Then she gave a sudden war cry, and the thunking noise of a stabbing sword sounded dully through the room. A strange crackling noise sounded, which was hopefully the sound of a Muspel dying. Another noise followed, Sif giving a little cry of success, and Jane wanted to root for her, but there were legions and legions of Muspels in the room just waiting to join the fight.

Bursts of flame filled the air, the rancid smell of burned hair following. Sif screamed then, a terrible, pained scream, and Jane tried futilely to cover her ears and block out the sound, squinting her eyes shut. All of the Jötuns, apparently believing their guard duties unneeded at the moment, edged forward, starting to making a rough chanting noise, spurring on the fight. It was horrifying.

Suddenly, a gentle grasp landed on Jane's wrist, prying her hands from her head. She looked up in wonder to see Frigga standing beside her, looking serious, but as calm as ever. She was now sporting an elegant, silken emerald gown that draped over her graceful form perfectly.

Jane had felt her hand.

"Frigga?" Jane let out in a hoarse whisper, blinking furiously.

"Shh, my dear. Sif has given us a chance, but I have only limited time in a corporeal form," Frigga murmured, snapping her fingers. A hazy green orb of light moved to encompass the space they stood in, and Frigga nodded. "Now we can talk, but this illusion won't hold for long. The guards will only see you, standing quietly." The noise of the lopsided battle was dimmed drastically, and Jane nearly forgot all about the struggle going on in the room.

"How are you here? You…you d-" Jane was choking on her own words and astonishment, hands flailing as she tried to express herself.

"I have many connections in many realms, Jane, and the afterlife is only one of those," Frigga said cryptically. "You may rest assured I am here to help, and to see that the realm regains its balance once again."

"You've been helping for a while," Jane said in realization. Frigga nodded. "Does that mean Odin reclaiming the throne?" Frigga shot her a smile. "Whatever will be best for the realm will be done."

Well, that was clear statement, Jane thought, following Frigga as she beckoned her to move closer to the caged Thor. "This will be a nasty shock for him," the Aesir woman warned, and took a final stride that encompassed his prison in her illusion field.

As the astrophysicist and his thought-dead mother appeared in one sudden blink, Thor froze in bewilderment, probably thinking himself mad. It was that sort of week. "Jane?" Thor asked, eyes locking on the taller woman. "Mother? You are-"

"I am here, and that is what matters now, Thor," Frigga hushed him, tracing an intricate pattern over the lock of the cage. "You must ready yourselves. This barrier is formidable, and I will be gone when I finish dissolving it." She looked up at Thor, eyes glistening as she smiled. "I'm so proud of you."

Thor looked like he needed to sit down, his cerulean eyes filling with his own tears as he apparently accepted that Frigga was really standing there. "I failed you, and Asgard," he muttered miserably, waving a hand at the commandeered throne room.

"It is not for you to be the hero every time, Thor. Glory is a feast anyone may partake of," Frigga said, some cryptic weight behind the words, but her eyes were intent on the lock now. Green light surrounded it and started to stream up the bars of the cage.

"What does that mean?" Jane asked with her brow clinched, Thor wearing an identical expression, but Frigga just looked between the two of them, giving one last beatific smile. "I'm sorry I haven't more time. Good luck, and farewell." A fizzling noise rent the air, and the structure trapping Thor was gone completely. His reaction time was perfected from years and years of training and battle, and with all shock set aside, his hand was already up, summoning Mjölnir from where it had been left in the ballroom. His other reached for Jane's hand, and he gently pushed her towards the throne, indicating she should hide behind it, but Jane rolled her eyes at that, ducking through the mayhem when his back turned.

She made it to the bottom of the throne steps, where Erik Selvig had been left like a toy. He had miraculously avoided any harm, but it wasn't as though he posed a threat, sitting with his hands around his knees and shaking slightly. He was legitimately going to be in the asylum after this, and Jane winced at the thought as she coaxed him to his feet.

The Jötuns and Muspels had turned as one as the cage broke, Hoder's ensuing yell inciting them all to action. "Get him, you fools, before the bloody hammer-" But it was too late, the rune-inscribed weapon actually breaking through the double doors to get to its chosen wielder. It slammed into several Muspels along the way, the fiery bodies proving no match for the hammer, even unmanned.

Mjölnir flung itself into Thor's grip, his arm already swinging it into the ranks of Jötuns swarming him. Hoder was calling out something, and more frost giants flooded into the room, the Muspels drawing back with Hoder to the far side of the room. He wouldn't risk further depletion of his forces just because a fire demon ran into a frost giant.

A loud clanging across the room showed, surprisingly, that the Lady Sif was still alive and fighting, but barely. Her hair was plastered to her head with blood, her movements much slower. Many of her attackers had followed Hoder, though, leaving her with only a couple more Muspels to fell. One more fell, and then another. Finally, just one remained, but Sif found she could no longer heft her sword, and her shield had been batted away earlier in the fight.

Drawing a ragged breath, she fell to her knees, closing her eyes in defeat as the last Muspel raised a blazing fist, ready to swing it down on her. But the blow never came, a strangled cracking noise and a splash the only following noises. Sif wearily pried one swelling eye open, the other following quickly as she saw only Jane Foster and Erik Selvig standing before her, the latter holding an empty wooden bucket.

"That was a pleasant surprise," the tiny scientist muttered, brows raised as she peered into the depths of the bucket the older researcher held. "Poof, just like that," Erik said in wonder. "Can I do that to Loki now? Would he melt?" Jane grinned sheepishly at Erik's words, patting the older man on the shoulder as she met Sif's eyes.

It was strange, the two women staring at each other for one still moment while battle raged on around them, and then it was over. As Erik tossed his makeshift weapon aside, Jane reached a small hand down to Sif, who accepted it, heaving herself to her feet after taking up her sword. "Why would you aid me? I have betrayed him."

"I don't think now is the time, Sif, but I'm content to assume that you were misled and don't actually mean to kill us all and let this guy rule Asgard," Jane said with a shrug, sidestepping a rogue Jötun who'd charged towards the pair.

Sif moved forward with renewed energy, dispatching the creature with one swing and nodding approval at Jane. "I appreciate it."

"Uh, appreciation accepted. Now the plan is to get out of here for now. We're outnumbered," Jane said, looking around for anything to defend herself with. Spotting a dagger sheathed on the body of the frost giant Sif had just felled, she darted towards it, gingerly pulling the blade from the corpse's belt with a grimace. She'd gotten very accustomed to thinking on her feet during visits to Asgard.

Thor had somehow gotten a hold of Heimdall, who was conscious but very weak, leaning heavily on the thunder god for support. The blonde was still hammering away at foes, trying to carve a path to Jane, but Hoder's forces kept coming.

No one noticed a black raven slip in through the rafters of the spacious room, perch on a beam, and scan the battle carefully.

Spotting Sif alive, upright, and next to Jane, Thor hollered for her to get the mortal woman to safety at any cost. She nodded wearily, wiping a streak of blood from her mouth before tugging on Jane's forearm, edging her and Erik Selvig around the battle and towards a side door.

"Leave me," Heimdall muttered wearily, a blood-choked cough his reward for speaking.

"Never," Thor countered, bashing another Jötun in the face and wishing it was Hoder. There was a lot he did not know, and he intended to find out, but they needed to retreat and regroup. Another glance showed Sif and Jane nowhere to be seen, and Thor noted that with satisfaction, starting to spin Mjölnir for flight. Tightening his group on the wounded gatekeeper, he launched from the stone floor of the throne room, aiming for one of the tall, open-air windows of the chamber. The raven took flight at the same time.

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He had told the bird to be his eyes, and it had done well, despite the grave news it brought. Where its twin was, he had an idea, but was not certain. What was certain was that the kingdom was indeed in peril, reign overtaken by united forces of Asgard's enemies. His adopted son was hurled from his false throne, his true son blindly fighting to right whatever had been wronged.

Odin put his weathered face in his weathered hands, at a loss for one of the only times in his lengthy existence. Even when his queen had been mercilessly slain, he had a plan in, strategies of retribution and revenge coming easily to his grief-stricken mind. Now he lay crumpled like an imprisoned doll, clad in rags, a pale imitation of the grand realm ruler he'd once been. He supposed it was fate, that the piper had come to collect payment after so many centuries of wrongs glossed over with the sheen of kingly commands. Perhaps he'd let Loki overthrow him, some guilty part of his mind hindering his resistance and willing another to take the realm upon their shoulders.

Huginn tapped his tiny claws across the moldy stone as he paced before Odin, awaiting instruction. The bird's beady eyes seemed to represent disappointment, and it struck Odin, then. Asgard was still his responsibility, as was the wellbeing of the mortal guests who should have been under Asgardian protection. He may have been harsh to Jane Foster in the past, but it had not been personal. She was a brilliant mortal who deserved better than to die during a coup in a realm not her own.

Shaking off the self-pity and straightening his back, Odin knelt before a stone section of his cell, concentrating. While it was true that the gate area was spun with magic, the enchantment wavered when it came to the stone walls, he could tell. Loki had not been thorough in his haste to dispose of his hated adoptive father. For once, Odin was glad the trickster hated him so fiercely, as the ancient, mortar-plastered stone began to quake under his power. The groan of protestation the stone emitted as it gave way, slowly sliding out of its place in the wall, was music to Odin's ears.

Huginn gave a caw of approval, head cocked to the side as the bird watched the Allfather's actions.

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When Loki gave the word, the wards were re-extended by Eir's hand, the trio of Jötuns brought into her library to consult over the palace schematics with Loki. Muninn had returned quickly, apparently having arrived to watch a key moment in the throne room. Darcy was essentially shooed away, the child left to its own devices as the parents talked.

Sulking, she flounced back to the room she and Loki had spoken in earlier, moving to the window and keeping an eye on the proceedings outside. There were no forces gathered out on the ramparts, only dwindling smoke clouding the horizon past the palace walls. It was weird. Was Hoder distracted or something? His inactivity either indicated he was busy with something more pressing, or that he intended to smoke them out. That thought chilled Darcy's blood; but Loki seemed willing to accept Angrboða's word. Still, there was something that made it harder for a woman to trust another woman, especially a potential romantic rival; yes, she'd seen the blue woman practically clawing her way up Loki's chest. It wasn't jealousy, Darcy told herself, just wariness in light of everything anyone in Asgard had ever believed being apparently wrong.

She drummed her fingers on the windowsill, displeased with the lack of anything to do, and decided to attempt a cat-nap. She wasn't sure how long she'd been awake, but it probably wasn't healthy. Luckily, her rumbling stomach had been silenced by one of the nice nurses and a bunch of cheese and bread. No more fruit for Darcy ever.

A gentle hand on her shoulder woke her some time later, and as she blinked the sleep from her eyes, Eir stood there, gaze bright with…something. "I think you'll want to see this, Lady Darcy," the healer murmured, raising an arm to direct Darcy down the hall.

The intern had always despised the sappier Disney movies and the fairy tales that had inspired them; Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Snow White, they were all just so…corny. She'd preferred Robin Hood, things of a more tomboyish nature that had action and stuff. Still, it was hard to believe something of a fairytale nature hadn't happened when she followed Eir, stopping short when she entered an exam room.

Ian sat upright on an examination bed, awake and alert as a couple of Eir's underlings darted to and fro, examining his eyes, tongue, had him lift his arms, even stand and hop in place.

"No way," was all Darcy could manage, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms across her chest. Ian noticed her then, grinning widely, if a bit questioningly. "What the 'ell happened?" he asked his boss.

"You want the long or short of it?" Darcy said faintly, pacing back and forth in front of Ian as she stared hard at him, looking for any weirdness. "How…? When?" She shot incoherently at Eir, who actually shrugged. "One of my nurses found him conscious about twenty minutes ago, if a bit disoriented."

"It was only a kiss on the cheek," Darcy burst out defensively, shoulders bracing as a voice responded from behind her. "What was?" Eir bit her lip to smother a laugh, it seemed, as she nodded to the speaker and turned to measure Ian's pulse. Darcy winced at the accent, turning resignedly to face Loki.

"Nothing!" She hedged brightly, waving behind her. "Ian's awake!"

"I see that," he said dryly, not even deigning to look at the intern's intern, which made Darcy frown. "Perhaps Hoder's enchantment is weakening under his duress," he suddenly offered, a hand adjusting a gauntlet on the armor he'd conjured.

"Duress?" Darcy asked, puzzled, blinking up at Loki.

"It seems there was a…commotion in the throne room, and my brother, as well as your Lady Foster and the Doctor Selvig, have all escaped."

"And you know this how, the Daily Asgard-under-siege Chronicler?" Darcy said skeptically, moving out of the room to retrieve the jacket she'd taken off to use as a pillow. Loki followed her, movements fluid as a shadow, and he seemed disappointed when she zipped the jacket closed over her tank top's neckline with a scowl. "Muninn," was all he said.

"Oh right, the spy mission you sent my bird on."

"He is my bird, and you ought to be content enough that he is returned and your intern paramour is revived-"

"Okay how about we settle for no one's bird, since really, he is a sentient being and a product of nature itself, and- what?!"

"I'm not going to wax poetic about my raven while we are under attack, Darcy."

"That's Lady Darcy to you and I was talking about my paramour?"

"It'll be Insect Darcy if you continue, because I will hex you into a beetle if you don't be quiet."

There was silence, and then she jutted out her lower lip, leaving the room without another word. Loki rolled his eyes, reminded again that she was quite an infant still, compared to him. If patience for mortals was currency, though, he would be poverty-stricken. He followed her from the room, clicking his tongue for Muninn, for whom he had one more task.

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Ironically, the palace was the safest place in Asgard, with perhaps the exception of the wild woods to the north. For despite the current status of the palace as Hoder's stronghold, and the fact its halls were filled with roaming demons and giants looking for them, Thor knew its nooks and crannies best of anywhere in the kingdom.

He had met Sif and the others in the training room, vacated once most of the weapons had been claimed for the ensuing throne struggle. Jane and Erik were tending to Heimdall with some primitive medical supplies that had been stashed in a cupboard for match injuries, while he faced Sif. She was not in much better condition than the Watcher, favoring her left leg and holding her left wrist to her middle. The warrior had fallen to her knees when he came to her, whether from her injuries or an attempt to express regret and loyalty, he was unsure.

"I am…so sorry," she managed in a choked whisper.

"My friend, my supporter, there is nothing to apologize for," Thor murmured, kneeling himself to put a hand on her shoulder and tilt her chin up to meet her chagrined eyes. "I do not understand much of what has transpired yet, and it seems we only have pieces of the conspiracy that was underfoot, but I understand well enough that you were manipulated. We all fall victim to pretty words and what we want to hear, Sif."

Tears were rising in her eyes, and she laughed shortly. "How wise Midgard has made you."

"How wise indeed," he murmured back with a smile. "And yet, I am the fool in all this. Did you know Loki survived?"

"None of us had any idea, as I understand, save for Hoder," Sif spat bitterly. "Even Heimdall was blinded, somehow, but Hoder's powers have always been swathed in mystery for most of us. It is unclear how great his foresight is, but he certainly holds a silver tongue to rival Loki's."

"I look forward to bringing the might of Mjölnir down on it," Thor replied, clapping her on the shoulder. "Let Erik see to your wounds, he likes to feel useful. Happy Lithasblot, Sif."

The unexpected holiday greeting made the woman warrior smile briefly, comforted as she moved to Selvig's side and offered her wrist to be bound.

Thor seated himself next to Heimdall on the bench he was reclined on, the god propping his elbows on his knees and letting his hands hang. "What a homecoming," he said, eliciting a small smile from the gatekeeper. "It is not a party until you arrive, that is certain," Heimdall said hoarsely.

Thor stared at his hands, letting earlier events creep back into his consciousness. "My mother was there," he said quietly. "And Loki lives. Is there anything else I should know? Is Sleipnir going to try for the throne next?"

"The animals of the realm may be among our only allies, actually," Heimdall admitted slowly, stopping the thought when his eyes glazed over, the signal that he was seeing beyond what was in the room at this moment. When he spoke again, his words were distant, as he remained watching. "Reign of the kingdom has much changed Loki. Even now, he plots to reverse the chaos, rather than feed it."

"That does not sound like my brother," Thor said, expression pensive.

"Darcy Lewis has much to do with it," Heimdall continued, his eyes finally clearing. He shook his head to clear it. "The mortals you keep company with are some of the most impressive of their species, though some try to hide it."

A sudden fluttering at one of the narrow windows had Thor giving a bark of laughter. "About what you said regarding the animals…" He trailed off as he met the raven perched on the windowsill. "Hello Muninn." The raven cawed politely, a leg proffering a cinched scroll. The bird left once its message was delivered, apparently needing no response.

Thor unrolled the slip of parchment carefully, reading it as he crossed the room to seat himself next to Heimdall again. Four sets of eyes watched him as his own rose from the message. "Hoder has his army, and it seems we have ours now." He handed the message to Jane, rising and crossing his arms in thought. "Looks like Erik's gonna get his crack at Loki," Jane managed, handing the message to Sif like it was some informational congo line.

At the mention of the god, Erik scowled, trying in vain to crack his knuckles and look menacing.

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	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I've been half-poised all week to post something, announcing my writing hiatus. As much gumption as it takes to put my work out there for all to see, I don't have much when it comes to negative comments. I think it's the writer struggle, and it's so hard to carry on in the face of some such criticisms as I've received before. I've held off and tried valiantly to scribble things down as they come to me, because muses don't care about negativity, and thus this chapter was born. Slightly filler material, and I apologize, but it was either this or hiatus, really, because...Lately I don't feel as if I can devote sufficient time to either of my works at this time, and denote the characters and plots the care and detail they deserve. Between my insane schedule and the way some people have made me feel about this, I cannot guarantee an update anytime soon after this.
> 
> Anyways, I'm off to comic con in less than two weeks!
> 
> Sorry for the heaviness there, enjoy this little tidbit.

It took an incredible amount of restraint for Thor Odinson to not raise Mjölnir in an offensive move towards the Jötuns approaching him and Jane, but he managed it. Someday he would gloat about this, joining forces with his yet-unseen revived brother and standing shoulder to dusky-skinned shoulder with frost giants, of all beings.

He squared his shoulders, fingers twitching only slightly near his belt where Mjölnir rested, as he and Jane stood in the near-darkness of twilight watching Angrboða's small collection of troops march cautiously across a crumbling bridge in an unused section of the palace grounds. They were visible if one was looking, but the point was to be seen, after all, and his only worries were for the small woman at his side. She looked eager enough to participate, bouncing up on booted feet to examine the extent of the army they were adopting, which wasn't very impressive, unfortunately. Thor on a solo mission could likely wreak as much damage as the combined Jötuns in front of him, but he said nothing as Angrboða stopped before him, just nodded gravely.

The giantess broke the silence, speaking softly as she met Jane's eyes. "You should not be here, Lady Jane."

Jane met the crimson gaze with her own narrowed eyes, giving a slight shrug. "It's not as if I have a choice, is it?" Angrboða seemed to leave off that train of thought, brow abruptly furrowing. "I do not like the trickster's plans. Then again, I don't think I've heard one of his that I've ever liked, in centuries of fulfilling them." She sighed. "There are far too many at risk, for whom Asgard is not even their responsibility…"

She cut herself off and stepped forward, proffering her bare hand to Thor, and he responded in kind, each grasping the other's armored forearm in a show of respect and alliance.

Angrboða let go after a moment, the same hand moving to sweep across the ranks of her soldiers, encompassing the entire company. "They're all yours to command, as am I. My own strategic military strength is not what I wish it was."

Thor took everything in stride, gesturing back down the bridge and starting to mutter troop movements. That was the point Jane tuned out, biting her lip as she peered down the darkened length of the antiquated structure they stood on. "Darcy is coming, isn't she?" She said nervously to no one in particular, and Angrboða sent her a thin smile. "She consistently finds a way to be in the thick of the action, your associate. Fear not, she comes."

As the giantess spoke, a muted boom swept across the grounds, a faint rumbling moving the stone beneath their feet. "I hope you guys have infrastructural monitors-" Jane mumbled, steadying herself with a hand on Thor's arm. "What was that?"

"That, I believe, is part of the plan," Angrboða said crisply, clapping her hands together and waving back the way Thor and Jane had come. "Shall we amass?"

"No, what-" Jane was cut off by garbled yelling that carried on the wind in their direction. "Oh, I should have known." As she finished speaking, Darcy Lewis and Ian the Intern appeared from around a bend in the bridge, cupping their hands around their mouths and continuing to yell unintelligibly as they dashed in the army's direction.

"We should really move," Angrboða said with urgency, making for the end of the bridge and the troops following. A cloud of dust seemed to be pursuing the pair of interns, and several rocks rolled into view behind the runners. "The plan was to make the bridge impassable from the opposite end."

It clicked in Jane's mind, then, just as larger boulders, undoubtedly propelled loose from the mountainside by the earlier explosion, started to cascade onto the old bridge.

"I…said…RUN!" Darcy's voice finally reached them, and Thor bit back a smile, opting instead to latch an arm around Jane and launch them back to a safer point with Mjölnir. Darcy and Ian were bodily scooped up by two Jötuns whom Angrboða barked some orders at, and finally, everyone was retreated to the hills at the border of the grounds.

Only then did Jane get a look at Darcy's outfit. "Darce…What're you wearing?"

The intern in question finally raised herself from panting position with her hands plastered across her knees, prying a thick lock of hair from her parted lips. "Wuzzat?"

"Is that Asgard couture, fall 2014 or…?" Jane managed, pointing at the leather bustier her intern was sporting, laced very tightly over a green, puffy-sleeved blouse and some sort of black leggings. Darcy, for her part, didn't appear fazed in the slightest, eyes darting downwards and then re-meeting Jane's gaze, shrugging nonchalantly. "Needed new clothes 'cuz the Illusion Collection I was wearing just wasn't gonna cut it, and Lady Eir had some awesome duds that she said she hadn't worn in centuries." At Jane's gobstopped look, Darcy's tone grew indignant. "Whaaat? They're clean, I mean…I look badass, right? Like I could slay some orcs or something."

Ian made a choked noise that could have been a snort of laughter, and only then did Jane take in that the previously-comatose intern of her intern was standing, conscious, in front of her. "Ian?" Thor boomed out a similar response, bounding forward and catching up the younger man in a bone-crushing hug.

Darcy had to dart forward, warning about air restriction potentially instigating another coma, before Thor let go of Ian, clapping him on the shoulder with enough might to buckle the mortal's knees. "Not really sure what happened, but we're kind of in a middle of a coup d'etat, boss, so maybe it could wait?" Darcy interjected in the face of Jane's lips, parted on a question, and the astrophysicist shut her mouth, nodding in agreement. Her intern certainly looked the part of Leader of the Elf Resistance Front or something, in that outfit, and Jane suddenly felt acutely out-of-place in her lounge pants and boots.

At least she wasn't sporting the argyle cardigan Ian had on.

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It was all too a little stereotypical, Loki thought with a grimace of distaste, watching his footing carefully as he descended into the dungeons, contemplating his self-appointed mission. It was metaphorical, of course, shrouded as he was with a temporary invisibility spell, but it was still a reflex to make sure one didn't misstep, even if you couldn't see your own toes.

The cells were full of an interesting combination of Asgardian elite, the drastically-reduced forces of the Einherjar, and some prisoners who'd been there since before the coup. Loki passed each cell, invisible eyes nevertheless vigilant as they scanned faces for a few particular prisoners.

At last, near the end of the cellblock, he found his prizes. It was somehow unsurprising that Volstagg had commandeered a leg of mutton from someplace – probably the lining of his trousers or some other unmentionable location – and Loki was almost gladdened to see the familiar show of gluttony. Releasing the spell with a small sigh of relief, for it was taxing and he would soon need the strength, he tapped on the glass carefully. Taking only a moment to relish the surprised expression on Volstagg's face as he dropped his snack, Loki grinned thinly. "Hello, Warriors Three. I've a task for you."

He let that sink in for a moment, and then the outraged warriors were lunging at the clear force field imprisoning them, snarling threats of dismemberment and pain. Loki took it all in stride, eyes patiently focused on the ceiling until there was a lapse in the noise. "If you're quite finished, I was on my way to letting you out."

"Why would you do that?" Fandral managed around a sneer, eyes raking Loki's form as if seeking a palmed dagger or some other trap. Beginning to huff impatiently, Loki shifted his weight, spreading his palms. "Thor needs your help," he offered simply.

The three warriors' expressions brightened instantly. "Thor? He is alive?" Hogun ground out questioningly, arms folded across his chest. All three were sporting drastically less armor than they usually did, likely a result of Hoder's forces frisking them, but it still made them look comically less intimidating. Loki fought a smile. "He is, and ready to lead an army against Hoder. If you will cooperate, I have a plan to supplement his forces."

Volstagg narrowed his eyes, scratching at his beard. "Which is?"

Loki raised a palm flat to the magical barricade, assuming their cooperation was imminent, and with a small fizzle, the pale yellow sheen dissipated. "Fenrir."

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The streets of the lower town were alarmingly quiet for the time of year, and Sif suppressed a sigh as she passed another burned storefront. Tugging her cloak tighter around her face, the shield maiden cast a furtive look around the deserted street before ducking into a tavern on the corner. The first occupant she spotted was a sad-looking bartender, polishing the same glass over and over, his movements punctuated by jerky glances at a pair of Jötuns at a table in the center of the room, their hands keeping large tankards of ale nicely frosted. Looking past them, she spotted the pale, silvery cloak of one of the only beings who would dare share an evening in the tavern with Asgard's current usurpers.

Whisking past the frost giants, Sif made straight for the occupant of a corner table, where thick locks of blonde hair spilled across the tossed-back hood of the telltale cloak. Shame the frost giants had no clue whom they shared space with.

"I am gladdened to see some of Asgard remains business as usual," Sif announced as introduction, slipping onto a stool across from the cloak's wearer, who smiled widely.

"Lady Sif," a voice like the tinkling of bells said in recognition. "I heard you had been sent to Valhalla in a remarkable display of combat."

"Rumors of my demise have been exaggerated," Sif muttered with an eyeroll, keeping her hood pulled up as she waved at the bartender for her own mug of ale. "Likely to keep the masses suppressed. For if I could be taken, what use is resistance?"

"Indeed," said the woman across from her, taking another sip from her ale.

"I am surprised to find you looking so much like yourself, Freja," Sif continued with a raised brow. "Are they not seeking you as well?"

"The Valkyrie forces are in high demand at the moment, it is true," the goddess conceded with a tilt of her mug and a sly smile. "It is a shame Hoder does not govern them, or Asgard would be quite won already."

"How have you managed to closet them away thus far?" Sif asked, slipping the bartender a handful of coins as he shakily delivered her ale.

"Oh, they are not closeted at all!" Freja said with a chime of laughter, jerking a thumb in the direction of the pair of Jötuns. "Thanks to my gifts, my forces hide in plain sight. We've been awaiting you, it could be said."

As if on cue, the image of the two Jötuns at the front table flickered and died, replaced with two light-haired women in full armor, wings tightly furled at their backs. Freja's mouth twisted to the side in a smirk. "What are our orders?"

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"But is this really necessary?" Volstagg wondered aloud, and Fandral scoffed at the quiver in the larger man's voice. "Asgard is in danger of falling completely to Hoder, you fool! If we had any other choices, we would not be trusting the god of lies and trickery, to start with, much less be hunting down his rabid, over-large dog in the bloody woods."

"I don't like this," Hogun's quiet tones murmured into the night.

"Well said, my friend," Fandral agreed, brushing another tree limb out of his way with his drawn blade. "I would much rather pursue some of the court's tittering skirts in the dead of night than this beast."

As if in response, a growl suddenly permeated the stillness of the forest.

"Why not offend the largest monster Asgard has to offer, Fandral?" Volstagg offered rhetorically with an ounce of hysteria in his voice. "It's not as if we would make a nicely-sized meal for a gigantic-" a crashing in the undergrowth hushed Volstagg's last syllable into a harsh whisper "-wolf."

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The depths of Asgard's palace had always been a favorite haunt of Loki's, the twisting catacombs and dead-end tunnels providing opportunity after opportunity to hone his trickery and illusionary skills. Endless humor had been provided by leading Thor at a charge down a dead-end tunnel made to look continuous, only for the large blonde to smash straight into stone walls at full speed.

Familiar as the darkened region had once been, Loki was now having trouble deciding a sufficiently-ominous spot for the little ritual he had planned. On the one hand, he needed no room for error, and the dead end of a tunnel would closet him in nicely; on the other, he would be closeted in with an unpredictable force of nature who probably didn't hold him in high esteem these days.

In the end he chose a wide stretch of tunnel with easy escape routes, as was the coward's way, he thought with a grin, lowering the flame on his torch to near-darkness to make her more comfortable. Then he set to work, kneeling on the floor that was a mixture of old stone and dirt, producing a pouch of vibrant green powder that he began tracing into a pattern before him. Muttering something that elicited a green shimmer as he completed the circular diagram in the dirt, he rolled his eyes at the dramatic procedure, glad Darcy Lewis was nowhere in sight to ridicule the unavoidable process. Certain deities were very particular in how they could be contacted.

Drawing his sharpest dagger, Loki rolled back the sleeve of his tunic, reminding himself to retrieve a guise of armor when he had finished here. Pressing the blade to his pale forearm, he drew it across his skin with sure movements, sighing impatiently but not wincing once as crimson blood welled from the wounds he carved across his own skin. Tilting his arm, he let the blood drip into a rudimentary semblance of an ancient rune across the circle of powder, fingers of his other hand falling to his thigh to tap a steady rhythm as he waited for the flow to wane.

When it did, he muttered another stream of syllables resembling Latin, making some small flicking gestures with his fingers. As he did so, the green powder lit up like a neon sign, the spilled blood sparking and lighting like campfire kindling. It was working, the trickster noted with some satisfaction, wiping off his dagger on his trousers and warily retreating back a few paces to let the magic complete its task.

It was a bit like the mortal's methods of communication from the century before, Loki reflected, watching his spell grasp for a "connection". Telegrams, was that what they had been called? As he pondered that, the sizzling blood offering began to smoke, great furls of crimson that rose in a thin column.

Call connected, Loki thought, rising and trying not to stagger from a momentary dizziness. Brushing his hands off on his trousers, he blinked, drawing a deep breath to summon the presence of mind to magic on a more impressive outfit. As the sleeves of his familiar leather ensemble slithered up his arms, the tail of the coat rippled in a supernatural breeze, just as the crimson smoke parted to reveal she whom he had been seeking.

Dark, shining hair fell in smooth ripples across one flawlessly-pale shoulder, reaching the curve of a slender waist clad in black satin. A crimson eye lined with an impossibly-lengthy fringe of lashes blinked suspiciously and narrowed at him, even as a slim hand moved to prop itself on the angular hip the black dress outlined. Loki lowered his gaze in deference, trying hard to focus on that side of her features. "Hela," he murmured, falling to one knee in respect.

He was surprised when the bottom skirts of the satin dress moved towards him, stepping outside of the rune circle, the hem pooling and trailing behind Hel, as she was most often known, approached him. He kept his emerald gaze focused on the dirt, uncharacteristically afraid to offend, even as Hela knelt before him. It took all of his will not to wince as a hand reached for his chin, tilting his gaze up to meet hers.

It was not a pale hand with immaculately-groomed nails that grabbed his face – it was a limb like that of a corpse left to rot for too long before burial, a gnarled mess of congealed blood and flesh that perpetually hung from the ivory shock of bone that held it together. The mess of congealed skin and bone led to a shoulder much the same; even the satin dress looked moth-eaten and ruined on that side, a patch of missing material revealing the whiteness of ribcage, a tear further down hinting at the edge of a femur. He swallowed thickly, letting his eyes raise and meet a pair of mismatched eyes, one the alert crimson that had glared at him, the other a dull, blackened iris surrounded by a sickly yellow.

When the mouth opened to speak, it was half plump, scarlet lips, and half a lipless, decomposed hole revealing the grin of a skeleton. "Loki," Hela said, her voice somehow smooth and hoarse simultaneously. "Decided to meet your end after all, mischievous one?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all. ~Bon


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the amazing people who read this. xo. Story is sorta winding down, so a lot of POV changes and stuff happening concurrently.

The urban legends and whispered rumors of the wolf had been embellished – slightly. It was indeed taller than Volstagg at its full height, but its teeth were only half his height in length. He would be disappointed if he wasn't so terrified, as the fangs in question were lingering a hairsbreadth from his face, glistening with saliva and caging a growl that shook nearby trees.

The burly warrior let loose a keening noise he would later vehemently deny ever left his throat, swallowing thickly and trying to inch backwards. "Fandral," he muttered. "Fandral, does it understand us? We aren't food, we…"

"Fenrir," Fandral said loudly in a show of false bravado, eliciting the wolf's attention. "We come on Loki's behalf." The beast's ears cocked upright for a moment in recognition of the trickster's name, lips finally falling back into place to conceal its deadly grin.

The wolf of lore was at least twice the size of a Midgardian rhino, something they'd read as comparing to a bilgeschnipe in appearance and stature, and though furry and unhorned, he was something to be feared. Fenrir's origins were murky; half of the wolf's tale was interchangeable, Asgardian parents modifying it as needed to keep their children in check at bedtime, and the other half – well, Loki's word was never to be trusted, but it was said he had had some hand in the creature's birth, and held some sway over the creature's behavior. A magical experiment gone wrong with Midgardian carnivorous beasts on an outing several thousand years ago, he claimed, but it was not as if anyone would come to wolf demanding validation of his side of things.

In any case, the beast had abruptly appeared at the edges of Asgard's main grounds several millennia ago, plundering livestock at will until the Aesir had started leaving tributes in the woods at Loki's suggestion. The offerings coaxed the wolf into staying further within the tree line; he became a dark blur patrolling the edge of the forest, and that was that, overlarge paw prints and snarls sounding from the trees fading into legend and memory for the most part. But as soon as the Aesir had breathed easy, it seemed one of the peasant farmers or a chunk of livestock would go missing, and the wolf lived again.

It certainly did in this moment, as it now snuffled loudly in the darkened clearing, muzzle swiveling in the direction of each warrior before the wolf abruptly sat back on its hind legs, as if awaiting explanation for their presence.

"Cheeky thing," Volstagg muttered, though he blanched so thoroughly anytime Fenrir's black eyes landed on him, it seemed as if even his ginger beard would turn snowy. Hogun looked like he wanted his mace in his hands, settling for folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the nearest tree, trying to blend into the darkness. That left Fandral to continue his request for help from the wolf on his own, and he sent a dirty glance at the other two before squaring his stance and folding his hands at waist-level.

"Asgard is in a bit of trouble, it seems," the rake began, eyes wandering around the dark trees, looking at anything but the wolf. "Well, a lot. The Lord Hoder has overtaken-" a low snarl resounded at the name, perhaps coincidentally, but Fandral cocked his head to the side questioningly. "-Has overtaken the throne, and Loki and Thor seek to regain control of the crown and cast Hoder out. He is…aided by Jötuns and Muspels alike, with many in his ranks." He paused, completely unclear on whether the wolf understood the common tongue or not. Shifting on his feet, Fandral side-eyed each of his companions in turn, speaking out of the side of his mouth in a mumble. "Do I keep going or…"

A raspy voice broke through the clearing. "That is quite enough, pirate." Strangely accented and slightly slurred, it was hard to tell if the words had been spoken, or were in their heads, but they seemed to have come from the wolf. Fandral raised a brow in the darkness, clearing his throat awkwardly.

The wolf rose from its haunches, tossing its head and prowling the edges of the clearing as if mulling over their words and unspoken proposition. "I will aid you," the strange, creaky voice uttered again, and then the wolf was gone, bounding through the night-darkened trees as if it were daytime.

The Warriors Three were left in stunned silence, three mouths parted in bewilderment.

"We didn't even tell him the plan," Volstagg managed.

"I think he makes his own plans," Fandral replied, shaking his head and checking his sword was sheathed securely. "Let's get back, the beast is going to beat us to our own party."

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Erik Selvig was of the opinion you were never too old to learn – or teach, for that matter, even if you were in the medical ward of a police station and your only pupils were other apprehended senior citizens. This was why he was currently surrounded by Jötuns, who were marveling at a small prescription bottle he held, as he explained how medications worked; the frost giants were far more accustomed to bursts of magic curing their ailments, and it was beyond them how a tiny capsule could provide relief. Jane left him with a fond pat on the shoulder as he moved from aspirin to ADHD medication, wrapping her sweater more securely around herself and moving to the tent housing Thor, Angrboða, Darcy, and Ian.

Her intern was hunched over a rudimentary map spread across a boulder, chocolate locks hanging in her face despite her frequent swipes to get them out of the way. Pushing her glasses further up her nose, Darcy was pointing at a section of the castle on the basic map, and Jane wondered when she'd become so savvy. She needed to get Darcy on payroll. "Loki said he needed the dungeons, which is why we started at the bridge here-" she pointed at another stretch of ink, "-and just sort of continued to be super obvious back to camp here. He said he needed a fair amount of time to consult with someone. I've no idea what that means, or what to do now." She shrugged, and Thor nodded, swiping his own finger across some shallow hills marked on the same map.

"Hoder knows we are out here, and that we will strike soon," the thunder god rumbled, raising his gaze to examine the real-life rendition of the ink he perused, gently sloping downhill from them. "We have no element of surprise, we have no superior numbers. But he doesn't have to know that."

Angrboða produced a medallion on a thin leather cord as if suddenly reminded, tossing it to the blonde god, who caught it deftly. "He said to break it, and his illusion would take hold," the frost giantess explained. Thor nodded in understanding.

"Ready your men, such as they are, Angrboða. We will strike at dawn." As the Jötun queen left the tent, Thor turned to Jane with worry in his eyes.

"I'm not sure where your place is in such a battle," he said bluntly, with a little apologetic shrug. "I cannot pay attention to combat if I am concerned for your safety…"

"I think I can help with that, big guy," Darcy offered from her position, now perched on the edge of the boulder, boots kicking at it lightly. "Boss Lady can help…Erik and Ian and me with, uh, medical supplies. Back here. In camp. We'll applaud your valor from afar!"

Jane's jaw stiffened as she prepared to argue, but Thor seemed to take the intern's words at face value, nodding with a smile and clapping a hand on Darcy's shoulder. "I take great comfort in knowing you'll all remain out of harm's way. And with the Valkyries coming, we will surely be victorious."

Darcy did a double-take. "Wait, there are legit Valkyries?" Her head swiveled towards Jane. "Who said anything about Valkyries?" Thor moved away to discuss something with Angrboða, and Jane edged up to sit next to Darcy. "Sif's gone to 'recruit' them," the petite scientist explained, fingers moving in air quotes. "Imagine a bunch of Sifs, but blonde and winged."

Darcy made a strangled noise and winced, suggesting she was imagining that very thing, and Jane rubbed a hand on her intern's back comfortingly. "Relax, she's under no illusions now! We're all the good guys!"

"Yeah, I guess we are," Darcy said softly, pushing her glasses up her face again, eyes on the giantess moving among her troops.

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He had crawled free of his own dungeons, a feat that would hopefully not make it to the banquet halls of Valhalla, robes torn and even filthier as he ascended the last step into the palace proper. As Loki conspired with the goddess of death, several levels below, Odin dragged himself into the shadow of a statue, trying to regain his ragged breath. He needed Gungnir; the staff channeled his power smoothly and would enable him to heal himself much more efficiently. As it was, he was having difficulty trying to remain concealed and conscious. Pathetic.

What a mess he was without his queen, the Allfather thought with a bitter grin. She had been right after all. Taking a deep breath, Odin held it as a sole Muspel came down the otherwise deserted corridor, straight towards his hiding place.

A moment later, a nasty burned smell was permeating the hallway, a wisp of magic quickly doing away with it. The form of a Muspel straightened within the confines of the corridor, shrugging and rolling its flaming shoulders as if to loosen stiff muscles before setting off down the passageway, in which a rapidly-fading sheen of gold in the air was the only sign magic had been used a moment before.

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A steady pounding was now the background music to Eir's work, as she leaned over yet another tome in her library. Part of Hoder's forces had arrived and were steadily ramming at the gates to her wards with iced-over fists and frozen blades.

"Lady Eir," cried a breathless, mousy-haired nurse as she dashed into the head healer's sanctuary. "They are nearly through…"

Eir looked up, a serene smile on her face. "What is meant to happen, will, Ingrid," she said quietly. "We cannot deny the Norns their plans." But perhaps a master of manipulating the fine print can, continued her unspoken thoughts as Eir stared down at a book full of fables, the page turned to a recounting of another one of Loki's exploits.

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"I rather hoped we could postpone that particular negotiation, at least until you hear me out," Loki said smoothly, fluidly retreating out of Hel's grasp and straightening the lapels of his coat. Her touch was not something one let linger upon oneself.

Hel rose from her crouch, folding a slender arm over an even bonier one. "Let me guess," her strange voice rasped into the space between them, which Loki sought to increase as he feigned brushing dirt from his sleeves. "You need a favor, of the deadly sort."

"You could say that, Hela," Loki confirmed with a small nod. Hel's jaw clenched, and he tried not to see what that did to the bones on the dead side of her face.

"You are not the first of your ilk to request a favor from Helheim in recent times, Laufeyson." Hel's voice grew even colder, if that were possible, and she began to pace the width of the tunnel, fleshed hand waving animatedly. That confirmed part of what Loki had started to suspect. "I do not act with the license of the Norns. We have an agreement. They the living, I the naturally deceased." She darted a sidelong glance at Loki, who had the grace to look like a chagrined child and bite his lip.

"I only take the aged, and the ill," she continued. "And then they are mine to keep. And yet, you seem to think I can pluck from the ranks of the living Aesir at will?"

Loki didn't ask how she seemed to know what he was here to politely request.

"And the Queen, even dead she thinks she can order me about and demand favors, tearing at the threads of the fates she herself helped weave? She was merely lucky those same skills were of bargaining use…" Hel now seemed to be ranting aloud to herself, and Loki's brow cinched, the trickster darting a glance around the tunnel as if seeking that escape route. He didn't come here to listen to an extremely post-menopausal rant about political red tape between deities of the afterlife and beyond.

"Don't be impatient." With a flick of her skeletal wrist, Loki was immobilized in place. "The least you may do is pay me the respect my presence is due, Loki, Master of Mischief." At least she denoted him a title.

"Hela, I am grateful for this little appointment," Loki ground out, huffing a sigh. "But I don't think you grasp the concept of time in this realm as you do in your own – you see, those of us of the breathing variety here in Asgard have a half-crazed usurper a couple floors above-"

"Are you referring to yourself?" Loki clamped his mouth shut indignantly. "You're not so sane yourself, Loki, and I know what you've been up to. You're amusing to watch, rather like one of the – is it television programmes? – the mortals peruse on their little glass screens."

Was this really happening? He was being told off like a child, by the goddess he had paid in blood to invoke.

"Really, Hela, I just need you to take care of Hoder," Loki spat out, fed up with her dawdling. "Please, just reap him and I will come along quietly."

That silenced Hel, whose eyes widened in surprise as his words sank in. "You would give yourself over, so that Asgard may be free of Hoder?" She asked softly, settling both hands on her hips, staring down her nose at him. Loki nodded. "Interesting. What has changed?" She lazily raised her flesh hand to eye-level, examining her nails. "Has this anything to do with the mortal I will be seeing in – oh, a few decades or so?"

Loki wrinkled his nose. "Really, Hela. I realize I have damaged both the sanctity of death by thwarting it, and you – several times, in fact-" he paused to tick off instances on his fingers- "-And committed crimes in every realm, etcetera etcetera, and thus I seek to at least right the wrongs in my own realm. This has nothing to do with a mortal. They are collateral damage in this conflict." He was completely winging every aspect of his argument, or at least he thought he was; but something at the corner of his mind twitched with his words, something that only happened when he bore witness to falsehoods. How inconvenient.

"You are lying." Hel stated it as a fact, not conjecture, and he wondered where he'd slipped up. "But enough. I agree to your terms, Loki Laufeyson." She moved forward, making a point to proffer her skeletal hand. "Death will claim Hoder, when the time is right, and then I will claim you for the afterlife you have escaped for so long." Loki's pale hand gripped the bones of hers firmly, Hel grinning widely as they sealed the deal, an action that split the bloated skin on the rotting side of her jaw. "'Twill be a busy season in Hel."

A moment later, the tunnel was gone, crimson smoke dissipated, and Loki was blinking, disoriented and now standing in the entryway of Asgard's main dungeons. "Remember who have you have allied with, and what you have promised. I have ways of collecting payment…" A phantom voice intoned the words from nowhere in particular, a chill spiking its way up Loki's spine at the ominous tone. Did she have to be so theatrical?

On a whim, Loki cloaked himself in magic once again, fighting the taxation of his strength, and swept into the secret cellblock where Odin had been housed. Just as Loki had suspected, something was amiss. Odin's cell was crumbled to pieces, the structuring thoroughly dismantled, a single ebony feather glistening on the debris-strewn floor.

"Typical," he muttered aloud to no one.

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If anyone thought it odd that Angrboða only armed herself with a dagger as weapons were chosen and primed for combat, it was not commented upon. The Jötuns were engrossed in obeying Thor's orders – no one wanted to incur the wrath of the legendary thunder god, particularly when they'd all but destroyed his former home – and the deity himself was murmuring to Jane off to the side, her face cupped in one of his large palms.

It was by now very early morning, the first bright streaks of dawn starting to cross the horizon. They were due to storm the palace as soon as Sif arrived with their voluptuous, feathered reinforcements.

Darcy was standing back from everything, stance tense as she looked upon the scene with folded arms. "I don't like it," she shot sideways at Ian, who was standing quietly by her side, hands in his pockets. Neither was very nifty with a weapon, and had agreed to stay out of the fight anyways, so they were unarmed and out of the way. "I liked the situation more when we were in the thick of it in Puente Antiguo!"

"If you don't think this is the thick of it, maybe that magical lady oughta take a look in your head…" Ian grumbled, pursing his lips and quieting when Darcy sent him a glare.

A shuffling behind them revealed the rapidly-healing Heimdall, leaning on a walking stick and only looking slightly winded as he hobbled up behind them. "Something stirs unseen, but we will not know until it chooses to reveal itself. There is far too much magic in the…atmosphere, I believe you would call it, and I cannot see anything." He gave a bitter grin. "Nothing new, it seems."

"You know, I'd like to think we'd be pals in another life, Heimdall," Darcy said with a placating grin in the Watcher's direction. "You'd be a killer poker partner." Heimdall smiled very slightly, a win in her opinion. Her eyes then moved beyond him, to where Angrboða beckoned to her with a warm smile. "Excuse me, boys." Running a hand wearily through her dark tresses, Darcy trotted down the slope, catching Angrboða, who quietly asked if she could speak with her. Matching her stride, they continued down the hill in the dim pre-dawn light, the terrain growing more thickly dotted with trees as they moved into the edges of the forest.

The giantess halted just within the tree line, in a sort of hollow that dropped off to one side, pivoting to face the camp some distance away. "I'd like to thank you, before it all comes to pass, for what you've done. For this realm, for my people, for Loki." Angrboða's eyes shot downward at the last, crimson gaze flicking left and right rapidly. Was she embarrassed?

Darcy's mouth dropped open, her head cocking to the side as she watching the giantesses' actions. "I haven't really done anything," she protested. "Insignificant mortal, really, in the scheme of things…" She hedged, kicking at some fallen leaves on the forest floor.

Angrboða gave a tinkling laugh, twitching the fur of her cloak more securely across her shoulders. "Nonsense. You've done much in but a few days' time."

"Nah, really. Luck and failure becoming random coincidences, that's the story of my life," Darcy said with a wide smile. "I only happened across my internship with Jane because I typed in political wrong in the search bar and it came up with paradoxical science or something and I blindly clicked apply and the rest is ancient history…" Realizing she was rambling, Darcy tucked in her lips, sucking on her teeth and staring at the forest canopy.

"Oh, but that is the problem, my dear," Angrboða said, her voice suddenly flat and harsh, meeting Darcy's startled eyes with those fiery irises. "You are nothing, and yet you capture Loki's notice, you happen to step into the middle of an attack upon him, you make friends with Odin's spies by chance? Something about you is not right."

The Jötun's voice was now a hiss, and something told Darcy to stop thinking and start turning and running. Just as she did so, a sickening noise split the sudden silence of the forest clearing, and pain ignited in her side.

"Damn it," she said blankly, eyes fluttering as she hesitantly looked down, afraid to spot the very thing she did see; a crimson-spattered blade sticking through her side like she was shish kebab. Leather bustier and tunic aside – that had taken force, she noted numbly, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She'd never been stabbed before…

"The wound isn't fatal – not yet, at least," came the frost giantess' words, seeming to echo around the woods as dizziness spun Darcy's world. "The toxins on the blade, however, are quite deadly, given enough time." An abrupt shove later, Darcy was careening down the jutting hillside they'd been talking on.

Hindsight was 20/20, she reminded herself, as the first impact smashed her glasses and pulled them from her face. Lesson one: never follow someone you don't completely trust to talk out of earshot of those you do.

The second impact was against a tree, her hip thankfully taking the brunt of the bruising hit; lesson two was to talk with aforementioned person on safe, open ground.

She'd somehow taken Loki's favor as a protective bubble, and gotten reckless.

The third impact was her hitting the forest floor some twenty feet below, the jarring movement digging the blade in a little more. Whatever further lesson she'd been admonishing herself with was forgotten as all breath was knocked from her body, glassy blue eyes fluttering shut to a mosaic of tree tops above her.

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Angrboða brushed off her hands on the edge of her cloak crisply, plastering a smile across her blue features as she came back into sight of the camp. It was a flurry of movement – several winged woman were circling the area, even more were landed among her troops, wings on proud display as they checked weapons and awaited direction.

"Angrboða, have you seen Darcy? They said she was with you…" Jane Foster said, trailing off and biting her lip as she came to a stop in front of the Jötun queen.

She genuinely liked something about the plucky, tiny scientist from Midgard; perhaps it was the fact only she gave any care to how she pronounced her name. Perhaps it was her legitimate interest in and devotion to the study of the cosmos, an open-mindedness sorely lacking among most of her people. Perhaps it was the powerful circles she so casually gravitated in. In any case, she would do nothing that would deem Lady Jane's death necessary, and thought quickly.

"She said she had nature to attend to, my lady Jane," Angrboða said sedately, with a little bow of the head. The mortal scientist seemed to take her at her word, murmuring her thanks and skittering off in the opposite direction, calling for the Ian boy.

The frost giantess raised her chin, swiftly casting a haughty glance back towards the forest, where the annoying mortal's blood was likely already fertilizing the ground around her. With a half-smirk, Angrboða twitched her cloak tighter around her once again, heading straight for Thor and a goddess he was speaking with, recognizable even from the darkened distance as Freja, leader of the legendary Valkyries.

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"There's going to be a payout from the treasury at the end of this, she assured me," Sif muttered to Thor. "If there is indeed still a treasury standing. Freja's forces are now more…Mercenary than dedicated, loyal Asgardian defenders, and the situation only grew worse when you left. In hindsight, they probably couldn't stand Loki's kingly arrogance…"

"It is of no consequence," Thor assured Sif, clapping her on the shoulder, pleased her wounds were already much diminished, mere hours later. "You've done well to recruit them, Sif." She blushed slightly and bowed her head, pleased at his approval.

"Freja, my old comrade!" The god of thunder boomed, moving forward to embrace the statuesque blonde headed his way. Freja gave as good as she got, the crunching of metal revealing just how strong of an embrace she was capable of. When they parted, both were wincing but smiling widely.

"I am sorry we don't meet upon the battlefield under more fortunate circumstances," Thor said warmly to Freja, one hand summoning Mjölnir as he moved through the camp with the lead Valkyrie.

Freja tsked lightly. "This is a dismal show of force, to be certain, Thor. Not your usual muster."

"I have come out of retirement, to limited resources," Thor said sheepishly, scratching at his temple. Hurriedly he explained the plan to distract most of Hoder's forces, and the illusion Loki had supplied them with, ready to use at will. Freja didn't look pleased at the end, but she would always fight for Asgard, no matter the coin in her hand at the end. She was also unsurprised at the behind-the-scenes musical chairs with Asgard's throne, leaving Thor feeling more stupid than ever at his own blindness.

"It was always in the trickster's nature to trick – why not trick death, as well?" She had said with a shrug, drawing her sword. It was a signal to the rest of the Valkyries, who imitated her, and then Angrboða gave the signal to the Jötuns as well. It was time.

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"The only successful attack upon Asgard's palace in memorable history was that blasted invasion by those disgusting elves," Hoder snarled, whirling from his position at a palace window and gesturing with Gungnir at Surtur, who didn't even try to conceal his cringe. The spear was rumored to occasionally act on its own, and he didn't want it waved in his face.

"Jötuns, charging over the hills," Hoder snapped. "Muspels are to fire from any openings and slow them down. They're only a fly buzzing around my head, but it is one I must swat. Once and for all." Surtur bristled at the order – the hurling of fireballs was indeed a combative tactic of his people, but it made them seem very…primitive, even compared to the lumbering frost giants. Still, he nodded curtly, cutting a bow and backing out of the throne room to give the offensive orders.

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Loki found himself consulting his mother's quarters again, which had marvelously gone untouched by Hoder's foul hands. Locking the doors with every spell he knew, he quickly spelled one of his projections to survey the battle from a window several stories up.

Intermittent bursts of lightning revealed Thor's location in the fray, and legions of Valkyries were screeching and soaring above the melee as well. Good, they'd actually taken his advice for once. And, if he'd calculated correctly, the Warriors Three should be arriving soon, with his old friend…But where were the mortals?

Murmuring a more complicated enchantment, Loki tried to focus in, pick out particular life forces among the blood spatters and dust. None of the mortals were present – another boon that helped him breathe easier, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Darcy Lewis could never stay out of trouble, though, and he cursed, straining to send a projection spell even further behind the lines to ascertain her whereabouts.

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One moment it had been Thor, Jötuns, and Valkyries, and a moment later there was a massive wolf in the mix. Someone hollered his name in a deep baritone – it may have been Volstagg – and then Thor was down with a blow to the shoulder by an icy blade. Growling at the momentary weakness the distraction had allowed, he smashed Mjölnir into the offending weapon and then its wielder, surging to his feet again and summoning another blast of lightning.

It illuminated the scene more thoroughly, even as the sun rose hesitantly to the east, and showed the beast that had arrived, in all its glory.

"Is that...a wolf? The wolf?" Thor roared incredulously, and then a hand was clapping down on his shoulder. He was suddenly flanked by the Warriors Three, the hand withdrawing rapidly to draw a blade.

"What is the meaning of this?" Thor managed, the four of them making a square-shaped combat formation they often employed. "How – why is the beast…?" He trailed off as another snarling Jötun fell to Mjölnir.

"Loki owed us," Volstagg shouted over the din of battle. "He brought this upon us, so his, uh, pet can help clean up the mess!"

A horrible screeching rent the air, and all eyes turned briefly to the wolf, towering near the giants' height and making it easy for the beast to tear into them. Fenrir's brown fur was slicked down with blood and other unidentifiable substances, and nothing seemed to injure it, frost giants starting to offer it a wide berth in the battle. Quick leaps solved that, as the wolf moved from enemy to enemy, mowing them down as if they were livestock.

"Who's going to clean up after it-" Fandral ground out with a grimace, wiping sweat from his brow. No one answered, the distasteful thought lingering in the air amidst the clanging of swords against ice blades.

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Loki let his reconnaissance spell drop, determined not to waste more energy. Wherever she was, she was fine, certainly. Jane Foster would have already found him and slapped him if she were not. He couldn't, wouldn't explain the concern - something was twinging at the edge of his consciousness, a bad feeling, that was all.

The thundering of feet in the hallway past Frigga's quarters had long since dwindled, a sure sign many forces had moved to the lower levels and out to meet Thor's army. He smiled thinly at the supplemental forces he'd supplied – good-for-one-time-only illusionary soldiers who could strike one physical blow before dissipating. Draining, but so helpful for those lacking in foot soldiers.

Deeming it safe, Loki slipped into the hallway, feeling around in his pockets for a dagger. What he pulled out instead was a small bag of powder, something he'd seen in Darcy's possession earlier. When had that wandered into his pocket…He let his thoughts drift over their earlier interactions and linger for a split-second on the feeling of her lips crushed against his, and stored that memory away for later savoring. Opening the bag, he cautiously sniffed its contents, blinking furiously at the tears it elicited. Ugh. A concoction of his mother's that was vaguely familiar as some sort of smoke spell.

Wandering down the hall without care paid to who noticed him, Loki didn't look up until he bodily ran into something. A lone Jötun stood there, a bulkier one than he was used to; Loki took one look at the giant, who started to raise a blade, and tossed the remaining contents of the bag in its face. A small explosion and a puddle of water on the floor later, and Loki was picking up his pace, dashing towards the throne room.

Hoder was predictably at the hub of the kingdom, sprawled across the throne looking like a pleased child. He didn't even look up as Loki slipped inside, instead focused on something at the base of the throne's dais.

"I never imagined such a sound solution would deliver itself to my doorstep," he was crooning. Loki frowned at the words, slipping from support pillar to support pillar with a cloaking spell as he moved closer to see who the tyrant was addressing. When he was finally close enough, he crouched down to knee-level and curled around the stone pillar, stifling a theatrical groan of dismay.

Odin was crumpled on his knees in front of the throne, head bowed, appearance as unkempt and ragged as if he was still confined in the dungeon. As much as Loki despised the breathing antiquity, he was leverage, against Thor and against Asgard.

And then, Hoder was beckoning towards Loki's hiding place.

"Come out, come out, trickster," the current ruler of the realm called. "I have to see the look on your face before I kill both of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. ~Bon


	14. Chapter 14

It was a subdued procession that traveled through the halls of Asgard in the early morning light, headed from the medical wards. Lady Eir led her ranks, as well as she could, given the shackles and the fact she herself was being led by a platoon of Muspelheim soldiers.

Her wards had fallen, Muspels swarming through the pristine ivory halls and muttering in their crude language. The nurses and helpers were thankfully worth too much as healers and magic workers to be slain outright. Hoder had ordered them brought to the throne room, and it was there they marched, the serenity of the sunrise outside a stark contrast to the fact they likely walked to their executions.

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"Where is Darcy?" Jane repeated, hands stretching to reach Ian's shoulders and shake them. "I haven't seen her since before they left!"

"Last I saw, she was walkin' into the woods wi' that Angrboða lady-" the British intern protested, shaking himself out of Jane's grip, strengthened by fear for her own intern.

They were just beyond the rise of a hill, occasionally peeking over the crest, hearts weighed down further by dread each time they spotted the battle being pushed back to their position. As Jane gnawed at her bottom lip, a mournful howl suddenly split the morning air, sending a chill up her spine, and Ian's too, by the look of it.

"Wot was…" he started, muttering and rubbing at his shoulders through the argyle sweater he was still sporting. "There are wolves 'ere?"

"Not normal ones," Jane said, distracted by something on the plains behind them. "Is that a horse?"

"Not like one I've ever seen," Ian supplied helpfully, two pairs of brows furrowing as the two strained to see what was approaching.

As the Asgardian equivalent of an equestrian animal approached, it became apparent that it was sporting a few too many limbs. Eight total, to be exact.

"Oh my god, isn't that Odin's horse?" Jane said, realization dawning. The eight-legged horse of legend, who could world-walk and teleport and do pretty much anything ever important enough to be written down in legend.

With eight legs came a larger body, apparently, as Sleipnir approached and Jane noted its back was somewhere around twice her height.

"What's it doing…What's with all the animals?" Ian was rubbing at his temple, mussing his bangs, distressed at the impressive spectrum of zoology they'd already born witness to in Asgard.

"Minds of their own," Jane mumbled, rising to meet the horse's approach out of some respect she felt was due. "Um, hi, Sleipnir? Am I pronouncing that right?"

The horse nickered softly; it was a mottled gray color, its coat holding an unnatural sheen despite the odd color. Already saddled and sporting an impressively gold-encrusted bridle, the horse paused in front of the two humans, tossing its head. There was a moment of staring from both parties, and the horse seemed to get impatient, stamping its copious hooves and starting to pace back and forth. Finally it seemed to come to a decision, kneeling before Jane.

"Think it wants you to get on," Ian clarified, if the horse's intention wasn't already clear enough to her.

She blinked at it. Jane Foster, astrophysicist with several PhDs and the title of Chief Astronomical Consultant at SHIELD, did not do horses well. It had been hard enough to not panic being on one with Thor, on just the short ride across the Bifrost to Asgard.

"Sorry, but I really don't accept rides from strangers," she tried, cringing at her word choice even as the words passed her lips. "Even to ride gloriously into battle, or whatever." The horse snorted loudly, tilting one mahogany-tinted eye at her. Jane lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, taking a step backwards.

"I've done a hunt, back in England! I can ride!" Ian said with sudden exuberance, edging towards Odin's mount of lore. But the beast had other plans, its head abruptly cocking to the side as if listening to something they could not hear; in a fluid moment the horse rose to all eight legs, and with a burst of light and a pawing motion at the ground, was gone.

"I feel like we did tha' wrong," Ian said, scratching his head. "D'you think it was sent to us?"

Jane was busy clambering back up the hill they were on, exhaling raggedly as she crested it. What she saw horrified her; the slain were numerous, bloodied wings accompanying limp limbs and abandoned armor. Soaked grass showed where Jötuns had fallen, charred ground signaling felled Muspels. A hand rose to the scientists' mouth, tears springing to her eyes, but she drew a deep breath, descending the hill and starting to frantically scan the battlefield. Swallowing thickly as she stepped around corpses, she made for the next hill, over which she could hear more activity.

Sunlight was glinting off waved blades, Valkyries were still clouding the horizon. The battle was still on, and it looked to have turned, the tide moving back towards Asgard's palace. Were they winning, or did Hoder have something planned?

A small twitched at Jane's lips as a burst of lightning momentarily darkened the sky; either way, the battle was far from over.

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"This was really not what I had in mind for the celebration of a great harvest, you know?" Fandral ground out, dissipating another Jötun foot soldier with a fierce jab of his sword. "It was supposed to be all about gorging oneself, guzzling ale like there's no tomorrow, setting records for how many women you can fit on your lap…"

"That may have been part of your agenda, my friend," Thor boomed with a grin, teeth a shock of white in a face splattered with bits of gore, "but I only came for the picturesque scenery of the Bifrost, and to marvel at Volstagg's beard!"

"What, you don't get that at home?!" Volstagg demanded, booming out a laugh as he sparred with a Muspel's odd stone blade.

The battle's progress was difficult to tell.

No one was questioning any longer the abilities of the wolf Fenrir; it seemed unaffected by the elemental extremities of its enemies, not visibly slowed by the cold of the Jötuns or the burn of the Muspels. All were curious when the beast's unspoken oath of aid would expire, though, as it bounded past and charged another cluster of frost giants.

They were close to the castle's gates, now, Hoder's forces streaming through the gateways at a slower pace now. The wolf was at the forefront of their ranks, approaching that walkway, when Thor caught a glimpse of movements up on the ramparts.

"Fenrir!" He roared, but arrows were already flying from the bows of what had to be peasants from the lower city, pressed into servitude; the Einherjar had mostly been imprisoned or killed for refusing to fight for Hoder. Several missiles hit their target, though, and a series of strange yelps preceded Fenrir thrashing back onto his hind legs, bucking like a horse.

"Who knew anything could hurt it?" Volstagg managed, after watching the wince-worthy scene a moment, just barely ducking a sword swung at him a moment later.

"Probably enchantments by Hoder in the arrows," Fandral theorized, parrying another blow.

A full-blown howl split the air, then, and a gap in the battle showed Fenrir slowing, movements growing more sluggish by the moment as he slumped towards the ground, panting. It seemed the swashbuckler had been correct, to a point.

"By the Norns," Sif swore in realization. "Fandral might have a spark of intelligence after all." She cut a glance to the man she'd sworn allegiance to. "We've got to get past the gates, and quick. Thor?"

The blonde god nodded, swinging Mjölnir in preparation for a mighty launch. "This will give you but a moment," he warned, "but I'll dim their visibility as much as I can. Gather whom you can muster, and charge." Then up he went, a crater left in his wake as Mjölnir soared towards the skies it would summon the elements from.

Clouds of a deep gray merged to conceal the morning sun, blue streaks of electricity splitting their masses and converging above the lone figure, high above the grounds of Asgard. A split-second of indecision later, Thor made his choice, guiding a massive burst of lightning towards a turret of Asgard's palace. The Warriors Three, what Valkyries were left, and the rest of the Jötun forces streamed into the gates of the realm's fortress, and Thor told himself he would personally repair the tower he was in the process of destroying. The blow would rattle the entire structure, scatter some of Hoder's forces as they sought to evaluate the damage, and hopefully gain the rebels entrance to the halls.

Ornate grating that had previously decorated the exterior of the castle tumbled from crumbling walls, etched stone plummeting to the looping streets below as the lightning struck its blow. Nodding in satisfaction, Thor descended to the grounds after one last glance towards the plains they'd invaded from. He hoped Jane was alright.

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The first thing she grew aware of was female voices talking, and it was a heated discussion, that much she could tell, but it was like she was underwater, or her head was stuffed under her pillow to drown them out. If it were the latter, the method was effective, Darcy thought with annoyance, straining to make out the strange intonations. Slowly, as if her ears were swimming to the surface, two different speakers became audible.

"I told your bastard of a son, I owe the house of Odin nothing," a cold, croaky voice snapped with a vitality that seemed uncharacteristic, for some reason. "And yet I nevertheless sealed a deal with the trickster, against my better judgment, might I add, out of some misguided affection I held for him centuries ago." Those words stirred something in Darcy's memory, but not enough to precisely recall anything.

The voice continued, rising in pitch. "And now, you come to me with more wheedling? The whims of a fallen goddess mean nothing to me!"

"What of new souls, to populate your realm and constitute the masses you rule over, Hela?" A softer, warmed voice countered. "I imagine the dead's company is often monotonous. A few interesting characters, perhaps…"

"Odin banished me to Helheim. Killed me, cursed me, damned to me an unforgiving realm, dark, cold, inhospitable and suitable only for those whom life has passed on." The cold voice made the statement of fact in a bitter, clipped tone, and Darcy blinked at the vaguely familiar names. Odin. Odin, the old fossil who was in all the legends. The dick who played father to Loki until it became inconvenient. That guy. He'd wronged a lot of people, hadn't he?

Trying to place whose voice it could be, the intern abruptly realized she could blink, and…Where the hell was she?

Everything was cloudy, the air around her swirling with several shades of gray smoke. Her memory felt the same; something…something bad had happened to her, but she wasn't sure…Crimson eyes stood out in her recollection, but that was it.

Looking down gave her a start; she couldn't see her body, couldn't…couldn't feel it, either, though she was somehow obviously breathing and blinking and thinking alright. Her breathing quickened with the observation; even without a corporeal form, it seemed one could definitely still hyperventilate.

Casting a stricken glance around the "room", or plane of existence, or whatever it was, she still saw nothing, but the voices continued, apparently heedless of her change in consciousness.

"The throne of Asgard had this coming for ages, Frigga," the one called Hela rasped.

"You must note that it is not the same throne that has been toppled, Hela," the one called Frigga – Loki's mom? – pointed out. "A fledgling regime without time to grow, but which has already shown an immense propensity for success, has been the victim here."

If Darcy had eyebrows at this point, they'd be cinched, a grimace of confusion on her features. She was somehow witness to an otherworldly soap opera-grade spat between goddesses.

"What are you saying?" The much less-pleasant voice's croak rose in demand. "Whose side are you on, witch? Your darling husband's, or the ice-blooded whelp he brought home to ruin you all?"

That was harsh. Darcy's heart gave a little twinge, thinking of the orphaned frost giant infant left to die.

"The side of fate, dear Hela," the second voice said, and it now held a hint of sadness. "My reach has no doubt been shortened, but where I can help my sons, I always will. That aid extends now to include the mortals for whom they hold affection. Odin's time, I'm afraid, has come and gone."

This was seriously weird, Darcy thought. Spooky. And awkward. Could she opt to go back to sleep, or…Run an errand, something she had to do that was itching at the back of her mind? Oh, wait, they were talking about her now-

"How does this girl play into the affairs of the Golden Realm again, exactly?" Hela questioned, sounding very unhappy with Frigga's persuasive points.

"She has given Loki glimpses of happiness, gone with him where none have, even amongst the chaos he thrives in. I believe her influence strengthens him, balances him, something he will need if the throne is to be reclaimed."

"And is it to be? Has your little sewing project shown you that far?" Hela's voice now held a sneer of derision, and Darcy could almost hear that arms were being folded. Meanwhile, the intern tried to focus on herself. Was she dying? Already dead?

Wiggling fingers she could not see, it was hard to tell. She tuned back in to the godly dispute.

"The poison is there, Frigga," Hela spat. "No denying that by rights, her death will be mine. Why don't you make your request known? I haven't all day, there are peasants dying in rural Midgard as we speak who require my attentions."

"Heal Darcy, enough that she will survive long enough to get back to Asgard." The syllables of the request were quiet, pleading. "Give the young mortal a chance to prove her spirit. You love your little games and wagers, don't you, Hela?"

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A deafening crash resounded through the palace, stone halls magnifying the sound until it reached the throne room, echoing about the great hall with nowhere else to go. Hoder raised Gungnir defensively immediately, eyes darting about to place the threat. When none appeared, he lowered the spear, barking an order for a Jötun to find out what had happened, and eyeing Odin speculatively.

"My old friend, how has it come to this?" Odin's weak voice barely reached the top stairs of the dais, but Hoder heard him.

"Funny you should ask, Odin. Here I thought I was protecting the integrity of my friend and comrade's throne, ridding Asgard of this usurper-" the word was hissed with disgust "-and yet I find such resistance to my methods and aid. Why is that, do you think?"

"You have treated my people like the ants Loki here treated the Midgardians as," Odin observed, struggling to his feet, tugging at the ragged clothing he wore to straighten it. "You have come to them not as a peer willing to help and work alongside them, but as a dictator, as a cruel master, and Asgard will not have that. Asgard will not be stepped on and beaten into submission, old friend. You know that as well as I, or did we not, after all, fight in the same battles so many centuries ago?"

Loki had risen to a standing position, arms and ankles crossed as he propped himself against a pillar near Odin. A bristling flash of green magic at his fingertips had warded off any guards who would have wandered too close, but he was close to running on empty. Emerald eyes flicked between the two exchanging words, worry digging itself into the green depths with each passing minute. Where was Thor? And the...girl?

A clattering noise signaled the throne room doors slamming, and a messenger approached."My Lord," rumbled the Jötun who had just entered, "The west tower is…gone. The Golden One's forces have breached the front gates, and…there was also a disturbance in the stables."

Loki snorted in the brief silence that ensued. "Disturbance in the stables?" Hoder repeated, latching onto what seemed the most inconsequential of the news. "What sort of disturbance?"

"The World-Walking beast, it has gone," the Jötun supplied nervously, glancing at Odin while taking a few steps back. "We know not where it went."

"So Sleipnir has gone walkabout," Hoder mused, tapped Gungnir on the stone floor, a resounding bang resulting. "Perhaps Loki has an idea what that is about?" Hoder grinned nastily, a brow cocking in inquiry.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Loki drawled with actual, complete honesty. "Perhaps even the wildlife is rubbed the wrong way by your retention of the throne, Hoder." The resulting glare from the tyrant did nothing to dispel the grin on Loki's face.

"Sleipnir does as he pleases, does he not, Father?" Loki continued, determined to keep Hoder's focus away from what had to be coming. He stepped into the open, circling Odin while his eyes remained on the rafters.

There it was, a flash of black feathers above. One raven accounted for, and it was not the one he wanted. Damn.

As he completed a full circle, movement at the back of the hall paused his movements. A slighter figure than the rest was moving towards the front, a wide, respectful berth being given. None other than Angrboða moved into view, striding towards the dais. This wasn't part of the plan, Loki thought.

"It is done," she called, clearly not talking to the trickster. His mouth parted on a question as she passed him, moving to ascend the golden steps to the throne. "Angie?" He muttered softly into the silence, but the frost giantess did not turn until she was next to Hoder, who patted her fur-clad shoulder fondly.

"Excellent job, my dear. Splendid first task as my new Queen."

Loki's jaw dropping should have been audible in the throne room.

"You should not have tossed me aside all those centuries ago," Angrboða supplied in explanation. "You are reaping what you have sowed, the trickster tricked after all."

"What have you done?" He snarled, voice rising in a combination of fear and anger. He was the one who turned tricks, who twisted alliances to suit his own purposes. The ice witch had done something, the growing glee on her face likely spelling equal dread for Loki.

"The mortal should be journeying to Helheim as we speak," the Jötun Queen crooned, resting a hand in the crook of Hoder's proffered arm.

"There is no chance of aid, is there? Eir and her people are in hand?" Hoder peered at Angrboða closely. On cue, the double doors opened again, admitting a Jötun guard who was leading the entirety of the palace's medical forces. All were shackled, but the serenity and pride in their faces was undiminished. Eir even smiled at Loki, though he didn't notice.

Hands clenched until the knuckles were several shades lighter than even their usual pallor, Loki's gaze was locked stonily on Angrboða. "What. Have. You. Done?!" He ended on a near-scream, his immobility more frightening than if he'd been raging about the room. Odin shuffled wearily to one side in some show of self-preservation, Hoder's guards backing up as well.

"I killed Darcy Lewis, mortal extraordinaire," Angrboða said succinctly. "You have nothing. No throne, soon no brother, none with any faith in you, Loki Laufeyson, and you. Will. Burn."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Consciousness returned with difficulty, as it did when one was very hungover, knowing that alertness would bring pain and dehydration, but also the promise of relief in the form of water and aspirin.

Darcy's eyes cracked open, crusted with old mascara and tears from her wound, and she groaned, an incoherent, animalistic sound that sent a flock of strange Asgardian birds flapping into the distance.

"Caw-caw!" One remaining avian voice squawked, and a shiny ebony head popped into view, obscuring Darcy's view of the treetops above. She reached for the name of the bird she knew that she recognized.

"M…Muninn?" She tried, trying without success to moisten chapped lips with her equally chapped tongue. The bird cawed affectionately, nuzzling her temple.

Becoming aware of something digging into her left hip, Darcy's left hand feebly rose from the dead leaves it had been resting in, reaching for the pocket of the Asgardian legging-things she was still wearing. Her shaking fingers brought into view the tube of lip gloss that had accompanied her on the journey thus far, and she giggled painfully, raising her other hand to weakly unscrew the cap. The shimmery substance provided a bit of relief for her lips, and she re-capped the cosmetic tube with a small sigh of relief.

All at once, memory flooded back, dread accompanying it, and her eyes slowly roamed down her abdomen and to the side. Sure enough, the blade Angrboða had so kindly inserted into her ribs was still there, jiggling with every breath and movement in a macabre illusion of life. There was no time to marvel at the fact she was still alive, as the rasping and crunching of leaves clued her in to someone, or something, approaching, and quickly.

With a ragged breath and a small cry of pain, Darcy hauled herself semi-upright with a grip on a nearby log, but there was no time to even contemplate escaping whatever was coming, so she drew a deep breath and focused on maintaining consciousness.

Complete loss of sanity arrived in the form of an eight-legged horse loping into view. The beast seemed agitated, which, frankly, Darcy saw no reason for; she was the one with a blade from another realm stuck between her third and fourth ribs, after all.

Muninn croaked in some sort of code, or greeting, or insult, and the horse snorted, tossing its head as it came to a halt in the clearing.

"Hey pony," she managed, not liking the sound of her voice at all. Quiet and mousy, like when she was just a bullied little kid back in a New Mexico elementary classroom. But nobody had time for anything but complete clarity. There was something she had to do. Darcy cleared her throat painfully. "Any chance of a free ride back to chaos?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up in the next chapter or two. Thank you all for your kind words!

Sometimes, Hela, Lady of Helheim and overseer of all souls in the realm, really hated the technology available to her; that is to say, there was none. She had seen snatches of mortal life on Midgard, and witnessed the phenomena known as closed-circuit television; what she wouldn't give at this moment to have a bit of that hooked up between her realm and Asgard. As it was, she watched events in which she was keenly interested, through a foggy basin of enchanted water in the depths of central Hel. Arms folded, a long nail of the flesh arm tapped a rhythm against the chalky bone of the other as she paced in front of her viewing pool.

Then things became interesting. Stopping short, Hela waved impatiently at the water, banishing a fresh cloud of smoke so she could see more clearly, the precise moment when the young mortal girl discovered she was not quite alone in her own skull.

Ah, there it was.

Laughter began to wrack Hela's ribs, quite literally, until the clacking of bone against bone started to drown out anything audible in the "surveillance feed" she was perusing. Rotting hand pressed against her side, a wide grin remained on her lips as she leaned closer, eyes squinting to see what Darcy Lewis had up her sleeve.

Sometimes mortals were interesting, like dying insects pinned to a table by a knife, squirming to be free, to die of their own accord; what would they do next?

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"I think this knife has to come out, before we take a ride, pony." The words were stated matter-of-factly, not as if they were related to a grievous wound in Darcy's abdomen that would likely bleed her out if the offending weapon itself were removed. Double-edged blade, as it were, Darcy thought wryly. Squinting at the raven that had appeared along with Sleipnir, the intern tried again. "Wanna help, Muninn?"

A somber caw was all she received in response, and she swallowed thickly, looking down at the knife again. She had to get back, but a length of iron blade in her ribs was going to cramp that plan a bit.

"But by all rights, I should be dead already, sooo…" Darcy murmured aloud, trying to think. "Nothing to lose if I take it out, right?"

Right, said a voice suddenly, making Darcy's head whip to the left and then right. No one appeared, but the voice was feminine, and very familiar. "Who's there?" The intern demanded suspiciously, and a light laughter rang out – but it didn't ring out, it…sounded within her head, like it was part of her own thoughts?

"Hhhh, uhhhh, er…" Darcy let out eloquently, bringing clenched fists to her forehead and bowing her head. "What was that?" She aimed at the black bird eyeing her closely, but Muninn just cocked his head from one side to the other and cawed softly again.

It was only me, Lady Darcy, please try to remain calm…The voice sounded again, and in spite of its words, Darcy was now starting to panic. Shock? Head injury? Audio hallucinations in the form of inner monologues were not a usual symptom of anything, except maybe schizophrenia.

"Aw, shit," Darcy said sadly, removing her hands from her face. "Have I lost it completely, then?" She asked the forested clearing at large, half-expecting another reply from the strange voice.

She was not disappointed, as the sentient-but-bodiless voice came again. You are not insane, Lady Darcy. I am in your mind –we are sharing your corporeal form, slightly. There was a delicate noise that might have been a cough of uncertainty. My name is Frigga – I think you know who I am.

Keening noises Darcy didn't recognize were coming from her throat before she could stop them. Swallowing again, Darcy blinked furiously, and tried to think a concise statement to the voice, and see if it was a two-way street without her speaking aloud. Loki's mother, right? Am I…dead?

You are rather more…Possessed.

Possessed. No big deal, an otherworldly enchantress was just taking up living space in her cerebral cortex for the time being. "W-why?" Darcy ventured, speaking aloud again because it was too hard to form coherent thoughts.

You are a missing piece of the puzzle that will determine Asgard's fate, and you needed help to complete the rest of it.

If that wasn't a stereotypical poetic response from a deity, she didn't know what was. "Erm, no offense Ma'am, but could you cut the flowery prose?" Darcy muttered cautiously, eyes roaming the clearing as if Frigga's pissed-off phantom would appear.

As part of a deal with Hela, ruler of the afterlife realm of Hel, I am to…possess you, keeping you alive and offering my knowledge in order for you to return to the fight, as it were. What is left of me is both sustaining your life in spite of the wound Angrboða dealt you, and lending you strength. You would not have lasted this long without magical intercession, and the plan is to get you to the aid of Loki or Lady Eir.

"I'm sensing there's a lot of 'buts' and 'if you don'ts'…" Darcy said, a trifle unsteadily. The back of her mind noted distantly that her vision seemed perfect, despite having lost her glasses in the tumble after she was stabbed. She could see blades of grass poking through the dead leaves covering the forest floor, far across the clearing. Must be Frigga's magic.

If this form dies and I am still tied to it, I will be damned to Helheim, same as yourself.

"Why would you risk that? And for me, of all people? Weren't you chilling in Valhalla or something long before all of this went down?" Darcy was getting down to business in the meantime, slowly brushing leaves from herself and steadying her posture against the fallen log, hands moving to grip the knife's handle.

I cannot watch Asgard, my children's legacy, crumble, and them with it. And you have Loki's ear where none other does, my dear.

"Children's?" Darcy echoed questioningly. "Erm, don't you mean one of them? And what…Am I supposed to be saying to Loki?"

I mean precisely what I say, and I cannot reveal more than that, Miss Lewis.

"Okay. So back to this shiv in my side…" Darcy shuddered, hands tightening on the leather binding the handle. "Am I good to take it out?"

My abilities will cauterize the wound, but any fixes at this point in time are temporary. It is taking most of my energy, as it is, to preserve your body.

"Weird as that sounds," Darcy muttered. "Like I'm a tenant in this meatsuit or something…" Grumbling to herself, she prepared to tug on the blade. Budging it a few inches brought no pain, but rather, a numbness accompanied by a sick squelching noise.

"Hell no," she said quickly, releasing the blade and taking deep breaths. "Are you able to…"

When your will allows it, I can operate your form. As if to demonstrate, Darcy suddenly found her hands returning to the blade in her side, fingers curving around the handle firmly. It was a bit surreal – no, a lot surreal, watching the blade be wrenched from her own ribs with a little shnk sound, but it happened. Crimson immediately began to leak from the gaping wound, pattering down onto the carpet of leaves beneath Darcy's legs, but a little wave of her hand, and a few strange syllables from her mouth later, and a sizzling noise filled the clearing. Seconds later, the wound was no longer bleeding, and Darcy had control of her body again, what was left of it.

The horse Sleipnir had watched this entire exchange with a completely unfazed expression on its horsey face, and now it neighed again, shuffling closer while retaining its kneeling position.

"Okay, I got it from here for now, Ma- Frigga," Darcy assured the voice within her head, flapping a hand idly in demonstration as she struggled to her feet.

You must hurry, was all Frigga said.

"Just a mortal, remember?" Darcy said with a sigh, heaving herself away from the support of the log and moving towards the horse with wobbly steps. Collapsing against the horse's back, she hauled herself into the proper riding position with one more groan, and Sleipnir was upright in an instant. Muninn was perched on her shoulder a second later, the feathery warmth a slight comfort. She was rather cold.

"I dunno how this works – I know you're a special horse," Darcy started, interrupted when the horse tossed its head and a flash of rainbow light lanced around the horse.

When it faded, they were out of the forest, Sleipnir trotting steadily towards the encampment that constituted the "base". She could clearly make out people moving among the tents – hellloo, strange newfound telescopic vision – and Jane was visible, off to the side conversing in a huddle made of her, Ian, and Heimdall.

The astrophysicist broke off mid-sentence, blanching alarmingly when she spotted the silvery horse making its way towards them, bearing what looked like the ghost of her intern.

It was true, Darcy looked a little worse for wear; bits of leaf were stuck in her hair, her glasses were of course missing, and her clothes were muddied and torn in places. There was also the matter of blood, leaking steadily and thoroughly painting Sleipnir's flank. When Jane let out a cry of joy and ran towards the magical steed, this became visible, and she stopped short. Muninn took off from Darcy's shoulder, moving to Heimdall's arm, which he stretched out in welcome. A moment later, he seemed to be communicating with the raven, muttering quietly and frowning after a loud caw.

"Darce…" Jane started in a strangle tone. "What happened to you?" Her warm brown eyes were locked in horror on the red stain spreading across the horse, and she was fervently hoping that somehow it was indeed the horse's blood.

"Frost giants," Darcy said with an eyeroll. "And here I thought jealous bitches were only a thing among humans." She grinned weakly, the gesture not at all reassuring as Jane watched the intern slump further and further forward on the horse.

"Darce! Erik, Heimdall, help!" Jane cried, finally moving forward to cover the last stretch of distance between her and Darcy. She couldn't reach her friend completely, seated on Sleipnir as Darcy was, but she latched onto a pale hand that was hanging limply at her side, alarmed to find it cold as ice.

"Angrboða," Darcy said tiredly, finally. Heimdall had moved forward, and, murmuring a few words in Asgardian to the horse, convinced the beast to approach a nearby boulder.

Nearly completely healed, Heimdall hopped onto the boulder, deciding it was best not to have Dardcy dismount before examination; the horse was keeping her as upright as it seemed she could be. The rock gave him the reach he needed, and he gave a permission-requesting glance at the intern before touching her side. There was no reaction on Darcy's part, at least painwise; but another large bead of blood welled at the source in her side, lazily rolling past Heimdall's gloved hand to join the rest.

The watcher's dismayed golden gaze sought Darcy's again, and her cerulean eyes met his briefly before darting away again as she nodded.

"Ian, Jane," she said, directing her words at the pair standing a few feet away. "I think you two can fit. We need to get back to the palace." Jane started to protest, but a blood-spattered hand raised to cut her off. "Heimdall, please take care of Erik in our absence." Asgard's protector stepped back and off the boulder he'd used as a ladder, nodding gravely and checking his sword in its scabbard.

"Are there any frost giants left in camp here?" Darcy asked then, and he nodded. "A few, Lady Darcy. Doctor Selvig is still with them. Lecturing, he says."

Darcy looked at Jane sharply. "You can't trust them. Anyone, but especially not the fire and frost giants anymore. Every other one is on a different side."

"Where are your glasses?" Jane asked abruptly, to which Darcy only replied "lost".

Heimdall was already off and moving, unsheathing his sword and heading back for the tents. After a frantic hiss from Jane, Ian was moving to circumvent the guardian and get Erik out of the tent before Heimdall reached it.

"I don't have much time," Darcy said, voice suddenly croaky with fatigue. She looked very sad for a moment. Then a few distant shouts sounded from the tents, abruptly cut off; a moment later, Heimdall reappeared, blade sheathed, Ian and Erik preceding him as they approached the women.

"It is taken care of," was all Heimdall said. Darcy nodded, pointing at Erik. "I need you to take him to the Bifrost."

Heimdall nodded, already having ascertained that all hands were on deck within the palace, any straggling guards summoned to fight Thor's forces. The Bifrost was open as the day they had arrived.

"And," she continued, "I need you to send him back through, and…us…when Sleipnir brings us. Then close it." Her voice hitched slightly towards the end, but she hoped no one noticed; no one save Heimdall, whose eyes narrowed knowingly.

Darcy took a ragged breath before nodding at the guardian. "Thank you, Heimdall." At that, he bowed at the waist, looking like he had more to say when he straightened; but he just nodded, placing a gentle hand on a confused Erik's shoulder and leading him away to gather what belongings had been with the man. They paused long enough to ensure the pair had mounted horses and were headed in the direction of the rainbow bridge.

Jane was sputtering at Darcy, saying she needed medical help, needed to rest, but Darcy waved a hand feebly, trying to hush her boss. "Sleipnir," she said, and the horse knelt instantly. Ian took Jane by the elbow, gently situating her behind Darcy. "Sure you need me to come, Darce? I can help with Erik-" Ian started, but Darcy shook her head. "We'll need you. Please just get on, Ian."

She sounded so strange, and Ian shrugged before zipping his jacket over his sweater and clambering on behind Jane. "Like a medieval carpool," he muttered, and Darcy cracked a smile. Jane was staring, horrified anew at the bloodstains coming from Darcy. "How could she? She was on our side…" The scientist wondered aloud, reaching out a shaking hand to the horse's flank. It came away red.

"I don't think there are sides anymore," was all Darcy said, her voice lower and more fatigued than ever. She took a deep breath before uttering the words that would relinquish control. "Frigga, you can take over."

Jane had just enough time to blurt "Frigga?!" before Darcy seemed to take a gasping breath, her posture straightening completely and her hands taking the golden reins in a firm grip. Squaring her shoulders, Darcy nudged Sleipnir's sides with her heels, and the strange multicolored light from before engulfed them. When it retreated, the horse was much closer to the castle, but still had a ways to go.

"Magical force-field…Sleipnir cannot get any closer with his abilities. Hoder's doing." Darcy's voice was suddenly monotone and – was that an accent? - prompting Jane to crane around and ask her if she was alright.

"Darcy is recuperating at the moment," came the reply. "Soon she will need her strength."

That earned a few blinks of confusion. "What the hell?" Jane asked, raising an eyebrow and turning around to look at Ian. "What's going on?" The clueless intern shrugged, reaching around Jane to tap Darcy's shoulder. "Darce?"

It was an awkward moment the intern herself would have been proud of. Tentatively, Darcy turned as best she could on a moving horse; when her eyes met Jane's, they were not the usual bright blue, but a darker shade. Someone else's eyes altogether, and Jane didn't know what to make of it. "Dar…cy?"

"I'm afraid not," the not-Darcy's-voice said apologetically. "Jane, you encountered the remnants of my power earlier...It is Frigga."

There was silence for several moments, Sleipnir's hooves clopping the only sound as Ian tried to catch up, and Jane tried to absorb, staring hard at the back of her intern. "Uh…Assume I believe that…How is it possible?"

"Darcy was badly wounded by the frost giantess Angrboða, who eyes the throne of Asgard as her own. My intervention, and another's, is the only reason Darcy is still alive. Think of her as…temporarily possessed, in the best meaning of the term," Frigga explained in Darcy's not-voice.

"I don't think there's a best meaning for 'possessed'," interjected Ian, scratching his head, just as Jane yelled "Possessed?!"

Darcy's hands simply flicked the reins to speed Sleipnir up again. "There is little time to explain – know only that I have the best interests of your party at heart, as well as Asgard."

"You said it was temporary, correct?" Jane said, catching on at last, and Darcy's head bobbed in confirmation. "Darcy…looks really wounded. Are you what's keeping her stable?"

"I would not call her stable, but I can keep her alive until someone else can help, yes," came the reply. "Her condition is maintained by the magic I have retained." Jane felt cold all over, knowing Darcy's movements were not quite her own; what did the feisty intern think of the situation?

"Lady Jane…Doctor Foster," Frigga began, urging Sleipnir down a steep embankment that would appear to allow them to circumvent the main drawbridge. She seemed an excellent horsewoman, given the situation. "I brought you with us so that I could explain a bit more, before I must send you back to the Bifrost. You must know that, should things go awry – which I am trying to prevent – there will be no farewell between Thor and yourself. Heimdall will destroy the Bifrost in order to protect Midgard for as long as possible." Her voice was quiet, and Jane detected a sympathetic tone. "Sleipnir cannot be caught by any other being in this realm, and your safety is assured, once Darcy and I dismount; my son would have wanted it that way."

This was awkward; a brief heart-to-heart with the dead potential mother-in-law, Jane thought numbly. And with Ian the Intern seated behind her, on a horse, awkwardly gripping her sides to keep on said horse.

"But Darcy's isn't," Jane said in quiet realization, as Sleipnir navigated the banks of a stream that seemed to run around the palace edge. The brunette mane in front of her bobbed again in agreement.

"You are a very important person, on Midgard and in the scheme of things," Frigga said so softly that Jane had to perch her chin very nearly on Darcy's shoulder to hear. "Your work must be continued at all cost, for as long as possible. And this way, you will still have an intern, should our fight here today fail."

Ian made a slight choking noise behind Jane, who was in total agreement with the hapless British boy. This was like a Shakespearean goodbye speech, and it wasn't even Darcy saying it.

"I am not leaving my intern here to die!" Jane finally cried, hands fisting in the sweater she was wearing. "She's my friend...Like a sister to me." She didn't know what else to do. Darcy's only shot was this…possession, but…She couldn't abandon Darce, who'd faced down the Destroyer with her back in Puente Antiguo, the weird portals in London, the billing department of England water and sewer…

"There is a bond of sorts, between my son Loki and Darcy, you see," Frigga continued. "She is a necessary part of the events that will pass soon, for better or worse. I wish you could say goodbye."

Sleipnir was slowing, near an ivy-covered patch of wall, through which a door was barely visible, carved into the stone. When the horse stopped completely, Darcy's form abruptly sprung from her seat, tossing the reins to a startled Ian, behind Jane. "It is time. I am sorry again, for what has befallen you all within the gates of Asgard. Sleipnir, renna, ras!"

The last thing Jane and Ian could see, craning around on a galloping Sleipnir's back, was Darcy, still in bloodied Asgardian clothing, raising a hand briefly in farewell and then slipping through Frigga's garden's back door.

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Loki could understand coveting a throne. Could understand being sneered upon for being different. Could understand persecution for magical abilities and tendencies even he did not understand sometimes. Could understand the desire that stoked within oneself like a fire, building and building with an urge for power that couldn't be quenched without a seat upon a throne.

He could understand the perspective of magical beings, gifted as they were with the ability to perform enchantments and physical feats far beyond the dreams of mortals. He could understand seeing these mortals as lesser beings, only existing to be ruled or exterminated, as…ants.

He also now knew that some were different. That some did not pursue leadership as the ultimate goal, did not slaughter their peers in droves, did not seek to destroy their planet's resources in a pitiful bid for supreme power that would only doom themselves instead.

He now knew a bit of the enigma that was Darcy Lewis, or had known her, until the Ice witch standing alongside Hoder in front of him had killed her. Stunted the growth of a being that, for all her flaws and inadequacies in the eyes of her superiors, had been above them, in perception and strategy, and in intelligence and understanding of those different from herself. She could have easily been an ambassador between realms, one he would gladly have negotiated with.

What he did not know, is what Angrboða had seen in the small mortal girl, to be so afraid, so jealous of her connection to him. What her intention had been in enraging himself, Loki, god of lies and trickery, silver-tongued agent of Asgard, when he had just learned how to win. He'd taken on Odin and won, been successful in all of Asgard's endeavors since, what was one more elderly deity and his Jötun whore?

A crow of laughter from Hoder's gleeful form broke his reverie. "Outsmarted by a foreign wench, Loki," he said, rubbing tears from his eyes and ignoring the glare Angrboða shot his way. He paced from her side, down the steps of the dais to walk a wide circle around a seething Loki. "There is something to be said for females. Sif, your mother, even this mortal – problems, aren't they?" He said with a casual nod towards Odin. "I'm certain you understand, old friend."

Loki's eyes flicked towards the dais, where Angrboða had shifted, folding her arms tight across the furred cloak, but he thought he'd seen a flash of something pulled from her sleeve. She was like a weather vane, swapping loyalties with the wind, and he could not really blame her. The pull of the winning side was a tide difficult to resist. The apparent winning side, at least.

Right hand clenching into a fist, Loki closed his eyes briefly with a deep breath, long fingers of the left hand unraveling with difficulty and starting to waggle idly. Hoder paced closer, and he could smell the old man, a disgusting mixture of Asgardian tobacco, and an acrid scent, like pavement on a Midgardian road after heavy rains. It was a typical sign of dark magic having been used, and Loki's nose wrinkled automatically, eyes shooting open to pin Hoder with a blankened stare. "Do you intend to gloat for long before I deal with you, or shall we get on with it?"

Hoder laughed again, a honking, nasally noise that grated on Loki's ears. Darcy Lewis' laugh was nice, he thought suddenly; there were several tones she used, from a high giggle to a grinding snort when she was trying to suppress laughter. With a pang, he thought of the laughing girl, cold and pale, lifeless among the wildlife of the forest. Her body would likely be ravaged before it could be found, if it were…

Before he knew it, a dagger was in his hand, and he turned sharply towards Hoder. But before he had a chance to lunge, Hoder had a dagger in his own hand and was pivoting in the direction of the throne.

With a war cry tearing loose from her dark lips, Angrboða had leapt the last few steps of the dais, a dagger plunging downward in her right fist as she hurtled towards Hoder.

One last flip, Loki thought numbly, watching as the Jötun queen attacked her apparent new husband. Meeting the assault, Hoder appeared unworried; his lips muttered a spell as he turned. Angrboða's progress seemed to slow, impossibly, and a second later, as things sped up again, Hoder's blade was sunk to the handle in her chest with a quiet thunk.

A gasp of horror ran among the ranks of Surtur's people around the room, and the Jötuns. Loki himself reached out a hand in half-hearted aid, knowing he could not help, but a pang of new dismay stabbed at his own heart as he watched the giantess blink down at the blade impaling her. She staggered backwards, still standing, gaping wordlessly at the weapon and then at the one in her own hand, having missed its mark. Dusky blue fingers dropped the icy Jötun dagger, which clattered loudly to the floor in the hush of the room, joining the flow of crimson spattering onto the flagstone.

Hoder brushed off his hands with a small grimace, like he'd just swatted a fly or other bothersome vermin. "I hold a gift of foresight," he announced to the room, as if explanation were necessary; but of course it was, to someone like Hoder. "With all my magic, my power, with all the investment I hold in this endeavor, did the witch think she could prick me with her little butter knife, and earn herself a sole throne?" Eyes widening, his crazed expression shot around the room as he sought an explanation, even as the frost giantess bled out on the floor behind him. "I do not share thrones either. 'Tis better this way, my dear," he assured a now-choking Angrboða, whose blood was leaking from her lips as she writhed on the steps of the throne. "I wouldn't have been able to trust you in bed any night, anyhow." He seemed to find this funny, whirling on the crowd with a grin.

"Are there any others in this room who would usurp me?" He called, hands raising as if in supplication to the heavens. The irony in that, Loki thought, still motionless with absorption of the scene.

As if in response, the great doors of the hall were hit with something from the other side, hard, rattling the ringed handles adorning them. One more blow, and they rocketed inwards, one coming loose from its top hinges; the resulting lopsided sway sent it careening into a group of Muspels, and chaos erupted.

Just what Loki loved.

A green light began to circulate in little wisps of cloud around the trickster's fingertips, as the entryway to the room filled with the likes of Thor, the Warriors Three, Sif, and assorted Valkyries. He might have even spotted Freja's golden locks gleaming among the ranks, but it pleased him little. Immediately, Jötuns, apparently accepting Hoder as the winner and their new lord and savior, sprang to the defense of his throne, and Muspels, at a nod from Surtur, who had somehow found a convenient corner, moved also to intercept the newcomers.

Hoder's eyes took in the new arrivals, noting with some satisfaction that the wolf Fenrir seemed late to the party, but a sudden burst of green light sent him careening to the side, and his focus shifted.

Loki's eyes were alight with his own power, green coursing around him, through him, out of him; Hoder's eyes narrowed, and his own power, a murky shade of burgundy, started to web itself around his fingertips. "Do you not know when you have lost, Trickster?"

"Maybe it is your own victory that was a trick, Hoder," came Loki's reply, his voice re-suffusing itself with arrogance and mockery. He could not afford to grieve, could not afford distraction.

Hoder, meanwhile, was looking forward to stick a blade between the Jötun mutt's ribs, just as had been done with his ridiculous mortal consort.

The two sorcerers lunged at each other, vibrant green and dark red impacting with a noise like thunder. The room shook, Muspels and Valkyries alike tumbling to the floor with the force of the magical fight.

Thor pulled himself to his feet, slamming Mjölnir into the jaw of another Muspel with a roar. "We are with you, brother!" He cried, words enunciated by a crackle of lightning, bursting into the throne chamber through one of the open-air windows. It struck a trio of Jötuns, and the resulting puddle extinguished an unfortunate Muspel who tripped and fell against the now-sodden stone.

Loki had daggers in each hand now, swiping furiously at Hoder in the ridiculous furry coat he was sporting; a blade snagged the fur collar, a rending sound preceding a chunk of fur falling to the stone floor. With a snarl, Hoder shed the heavy garment, revealing a jerkin pulled over something similar to Midgardian chainmail.

"For having such a low opinion of mortals, you certainly dress like one," Loki ground out as their daggers met again with a clashing noise that sent several sparks drifting to the floor.

"We are all not what we seem, hm, whelp?" Hoder replied, teeth grinding as he produced another dagger and lunged with it, Loki evading the blow narrowly. "For you dress as Asgardian elite, and you are naught but a wretch with ice for innards, brought home on a whim like a pet!"

A stronger blast of green light struck him then, Hoder falling prostrate against the steps of the throne. Panting, he hauled himself upright almost immediately, eyeing the ease with which Loki moved, his centuries of life still much younger than Hoder's own. The anger in the trickster's eyes was consuming, too, like Hoder could fall into it and be burned; the aged Asgardian was now glad he had all faculties intact, could see and fight still. But for the first time in centuries, since his young self had fought Laufey on the unfamiliar plains of Midgardian Norway, a flicker of fear sparked within him.

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The room was crumbling; large as it was, it was fairly easy to dodge cascading rubble and enemies alike, but Thor was saddened by the damage he was forced to inflict on his home of centuries, all in the effort to reclaim it. Even as he watched, a swipe of Fandral's sword sent a thousand year-old tapestry rippling to the ground, aged silk then trod upon by the charring feet of a Muspel warrior.

Wiping sweat and blood from his brow, Thor was almost caught unawares by a Jötun moving up behind him. A faint scent of gardenias and a slicing sound later, he whipped around to meet the bright gaze of Freja, caught up in the bloodlust they all succumbed to in battle. She was grinning, white teeth brilliant in the dim of the room. "Ninety-two, Odinson," she said, voice like the chiming of bells.

"Ninety-four, I'm afraid, Freja," Thor replied gravely, with a little bow. "And that does not count however many the toppling of the tower may have ended!"

"No fair," the leader of the Valkyries replied, a little pout in her face and voice. "My wings have nothing upon the elements," she might have grumbled, before aforementioned feathered limbs sent her shooting into another pack of Muspels, blade flashing.

Thor watched her with the fondness of a brother, glad to be fighting alongside familiar allies once more, if he had to fight at all, that was. Thoughts interrupted, he turned to raise Mjölnir against another Jötun.

A crackling blast echoed around the room, something like a magical static shooting across the ceiling; all eyes raised for a moment, before the battle resumed, and then a loud smashing noise at the doors drew eyes anew. Shouldering its way through the double doorways, still too small for it, was Fenrir the Wolf, snarling. The wolf was apparently recovered from its earlier difficulties, as its nose rose for a moment, scenting the air, and then it was upon a banquet table, flipping it to reveal some cowering Muspels. A crunching noise followed, and anyone watching quickly looked away again.

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The Bifrost was gleaming away innocently, the rainbow-shaded vibrancy undeterred by the conflict within Asgard. Heimdall was now in a semblance of his normal position, sword in its slot, the gateway prepared for the mortals.

Erik Selvig was standing there, looking a little lost with his carpetbag that served as a suitcase, his sweater askew over an Asgardian tunic he'd been sporting. Jane and Ian were late, but Heimdall supposed promptness was hardly a reasonable expectation, given the chaos. Golden eyes switched between watching the cosmos for danger, Selvig for any need of assistance, and the bridge, for any sign of the astrophysicist and the sole intern remaining. That thought saddened him, clouding his vision for a moment; Darcy Lewis was an interesting girl, but he knew she could not survive what was expected of her. Eyes blinking downwards to clear themselves, he fixed them anew on the bridge, where a bit of movement in the distance revealed Sleipnir delivering Jane Foster and Ian.

In an instant, the horse was closer, clopping to a halt on the rainbow hues of the bridge. Ian swung down, raising his arms to Jane's waist to help her down. She looked a little shaky, muttering that she "still didn't do horses", hugging her arms around herself once she was standing on her own two feet again. Turning immediately to Heimdall, she stated point-blank that she would not leave without Darcy.

"Then you would leave not at all, and milord Thor would not accept that, my lady Jane," Heimdall replied gravely. He too was upset with the scheme of things, but if Asgard was to be retaken at all and the usurper felled, there would be sacrifice.

Jane actually stamped her foot then, voice rising. "And where is my stuff?!" She cried, irrationally upset at the thought of test tubes and handwritten notes hanging out in a guest room in the palace. She might've been losing it with the prospect of the grief awaiting them. A wide-eyed Ian put a hand on her shoulder, stumbling verbally over the reasons they could not get her stuff, but it was Selvig who moved in, hugging her tightly and assuring her things would work out, but that they had to leave. The petite scientist began to sob, then, wracking sobs that shook her and Erik, who signaled to Heimdall. Ian quickly grabbed up Selvig's belongings and anything else they'd been able to grab, and was ready to go.

They wouldn't have a better moment - the watcher nodded, opening the Bifrost and sending the trio through with no small bit of regret. They would be blind to the outcome of the conflict, until one side or the other came through the rainbow bridge. It was unsettling, but he removed his sword, striding back down the rainbow bridge to stand guard in the opposite way he was accustomed to; now, Heimdall was not watching who came in, but who left Asgard.

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It was a bit like watching television, from the point of view of the character's own eyesight; Darcy could see and hear what was happening, but had no say in what her own body said or did about any of it. She could likely demand control again at any moment, but she was bone-tired.

As she watched, not-Darcy slipped into the back door of Frigga's garden, by way of pressing a small carving of a rose embedded in the outer wall. The ivy-clad door opened smoothly inward, no hint of hinges in the construction that could announce her arrival. When it closed behind her, ivy fell back into place of its own accord, perfectly obscuring the entrance point. Handy, that, self-managing plant life.

Darcy noticed "herself" pause, a hand going to the wound at her side and a muttering coming from her own lips. The stab-wound was reopened, and really making motion difficult. She knew, distantly, that she'd lost a majority of the blood in her fragile human body. It was literally a spirit's magic that now coursed through her veins, functioning as a vague illusion of life force. Very depressing, she knew, but she had not even the strength to feel bad about anything. Her degree program wouldn't be completed, her infancy at SHIELD cut short, her very life just…snuffed out, by a being in a realm she wouldn't have even been in, if not for a freak storm one night. And then there was Loki. She wasn't sure what that was, but wanted to find out.

Her body sighed, winning a moment of surprise from Darcy's mind; Frigga was not a very optimistic possessor. But even as she sighed, Darcy's feet moved forward again, creeping around the edge of the garden, the open-air ceiling of which was lined with several arbors and hedges for shelter from the elements. This way, she was able to remain unseen as she maneuvered towards the patio doorway leading into Frigga's old chambers. A whispered word, and she was in, moving swiftly towards the inner palace door. She paused only at Frigga's vanity, snatching up a dagger she hadn't known was in the top right drawer, before carrying on to the door.

Pausing, she heard nothing, but it was possible there were still guards stationed at random points in the palace. Grip tightening on the dagger, Darcy's body drew a breath, and swung the door open, vaguely wondering where Muninn had got to since they met up with Heimdall and Jane.

Sure enough, there was a guard there; an Einherjar, dead, his throat gaping open like his startled mouth had been at moment of death. Frigga muttered a small lament, hand going to her forehead in a strange gesture of respect, before Darcy's booted feet stepped over the fallen soldier and carried on down the passageway.

She encountered exactly one Jötun in the hallways, the element of surprise likely the only reason she was able to swiftly stick the dagger in its lower back, reducing the frost giant to a deluge of ice water before she made it to the first floor of the palace. Bodies were everywhere, or the marks they had left; blood, water, and charred stone marked where warriors of each realm had fallen, and it saddened both women. So much waste, for a chair in a room.

Sliding along the wall, back pressed to it, Darcy's body made it to a doorway through which she could hear weeping. Crouching down, her head angled around it, spotting inside several of Eir's nurses, and the Lady healer herself. A Muspel stood before them, a blade in its hand, gesturing crudely at one of the young Asgardian women as it muttered in the rough, burning tongue of Muspelheim. He seemed to be alone, and his intent clear enough; Darcy rose to full height with a glance around, a quick finger moving to her lips as those inside spotted her. The Muspel guard's back was to her, and she had a split-second advantage before it was turning, her presence given away inadvertently by a nurse who cried out at the sight of her. Her blade sunk home in the center of the Muspel's chest, but not before it sunk in to the hilt, strangely intangible as the fire demons were. The resulting contact with its burning skin had the smell of singed flesh permeating the air, and Darcy dimly noted it was the skin of her own forearm, tunic burned away and a shiny, probably-second degree burn making itself known.

She let go of the blade, which clattered to the floor a moment later, seemingly ejected by the fire demon's body. Frigga uttered a very unladylike curse from Darcy's mouth, before the demon seemed to explode before her; as its body dissolved towards the ground, an unruffled Lady Eir was revealed, a small bucket in her raised hands. "Just enough," she muttered with relief, lowering the improvised weapon. "Thank you, Lady Darcy." Her head suddenly cocked to the side knowingly, as the head healer's glance took in Darcy's appearance.

"You are in need of aid?" She asked softly, but Darcy's head jerked in refusal. "There is no time," Frigga choked out with Darcy's dry throat, and Eir nodded sadly, noting the gaping wound in the intern's side and the now-fresh burn on her arm.

"She will not last long," Eir said, because of course she knew it was not Darcy herself who stood before her. Creepy all-knowing ladies of Asgard; they probably had a bookclub, the intern herself thought from far within herself.

"He can do it," Darcy's body said, though the certainty came from neither Darcy nor the goddess within her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all for coming on this journey with me and Darcy, and please excuse the elongated self-explanatory sappy moment.
> 
> I've always tried to stretch the limits of fanfiction, tailoring it more towards my own material with each project, and I'm glad you've all run with it as I did. I've tried to portray Loki in my own fashion in this fic, a more mature and responsible Loki, the one that I think would emerge after finally getting the kingdom he always wanted, but perhaps without some of the tendencies towards madness he sometimes displays in the MCU. Not that the mischief isn't fun, of course, but I am a poli-sci student like Darcy herself, and I wanted to really play around with the logistics, politics, and red tape of the ruling of an otherworldly realm like Asgard, and how Loki steps into the role of leader besides bearing the title. Darcy is also the character in the MCU I most relate to, and I often read my own actions and decisions into her movements within my fics, sometimes resulting in perhaps extra-ridiculous intern shenanigans. Again, it's my own spin, and I'm so glad people take to my versions of these worlds and characters. This fic is, I believe, one of the longest, if not the longest, that I've written, taking the most research of one I've ever written, as well, and it's been a tiring but fulfilling ride. All that's left is an epilogue after this, and then we're done.
> 
> If I ever decide to actually publish, I think you guys double as both fans and inspiration, and that chokes me up to think of. Thank you all.

Loki was tiring and knew it, movements slowing, blade whirling with lessening frenzy at each passing minute. Hoder appeared to be moving slower as well, but it was difficult to gauge who would make the first mistake.

A particularly vicious jab from Gungnir sent a burning black flame coursing across Loki's left arm and shoulder, and he dropped to a knee, converting the movement into a somersault away from the older man's blows. He rose somewhat unsteadily, though, turning to face another onslaught with Odin's staff.

This was it, he thought, knowing his injured arm couldn't raise in defense quickly enough – and then the rune-carved glint of Mjölnir was in front of him, blocking Hoder's attack and sending the old sorcerer skidding backwards in surprise.

"It is good to see you alive, brother, really you this time," Thor boomed, shooting a sly sidelong grin at Loki. "It…is you, right?"

Loki panted through the twitching of a smile on his lips, but Hoder interrupted the discourse with a scream for a small group of Muspels who'd appeared at his back, to attack the Asgardian duo. The fire demons encircled Thor and Loki with uncharacteristic speed, forcing the two to pivot, back-to-back.

"Just like old times, eh?" Thor asked gleefully, tossing Mjölnir from hand to hand in a show of bravado that was not altogether false.

Loki could not summon the mirth his adoptive brother had embraced, thoughts still on Darcy, cold beneath the canopy of the Asgardian forest, and managed a half-hearted grunt in response.

Then, through a gap in the Muspels' ranks, he spotted her. Hair disheveled, face paler than he'd ever seen, and blood all over her, stood Darcy Lewis. Was it a phantom, come to haunt him, extract a final promise of revenge? He was a little busy at the moment-

Green eyes blinked furiously, fighting the glare the Muspels' fiery flanks gave off, and then she was gone. He had to have imagined it, he assured himself, shaking his head slightly and sending a deadly spurt of magic at another Muspel with a sharp wave. Then he caught sight of Hoder's expression from beyond the Muspels, wide-eyed and grave as if he'd seen a ghost, staring in the same direction until a ricocheting Mjölnir regained his focus.

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Darcy Lewis' body was not made for stamina, nor stealth, but Frigga certainly did what she could, slipping out of the chamber she'd found Eir in, making her way to the throne room through shortcuts only the former queen would know. As she rounded a corner, the clashing of swords that had been distant for a few moments now became clear, and the smell of blood was in the air. After a few more steps down the corridor, Darcy stopped short, a sharp gasp cutting from her lips.

"Something's wrong," her mouth managed, a hand clamping down on her side, body slumping against the wall. "Lady Darcy, my presence must become something non-sentient, so that I may help you as much as possible in the final stretch. Loki is just ahead. Good luck, my dear." A strange sensation like a motherly caress shot through Darcy's whole form, and she straightened with a gasp, finding herself in control of her movements again. Swallowing thickly, she swiped her palm, sticky anew with crimson, against her leggings, starting forward again.

A gaping hole in the wall ahead showed glimpses of the banquet hall beyond it; someone had made their own door, she noted, eyes flitting back and forth as she debated how best to enter the chamber. She didn't have navy seal stealth training or anything, so opting to hope that no one would notice her, she crept forward, wincing and ducking out of the way as an Einherjar's limp body flew past, landing on the flagstone with a sickening crunch.

Grimacing, she steeled herself anew, ducking through the crumbling, improvised doorway and stooping quickly to snatch up a fallen sword from the ground. Trying not to spare a thought for the previous owner in that moment, she pressed back against the wall, taking in the scene.

The blazing red of Muspels and murky blue of Jötuns were both still prominent figures in the room, the gleaming gold of Einherhar armor a sadly minimal point, spread thin now. Several Valkyries remained, though their mobility was somewhat limited by the room's confines, and they fought valiantly back-to-back with Asgard's forces. She spotted Sif in the crowd, sporting a nasty slash across her collarbone, and the Warriors Three, uncharacteristically spread far through the room.

At last she saw him, a whirl of black and green leather, gold bracers glinting in the flames of Muspel forces trying to corner him.

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Keep him occupied, drain his energy, make him susceptible to my powers, Hela had said. Then I can claim Hoder.

And so they fought, Thor Odinson and Loki Laufeyson, side by side on a battlefield like they had not been since Svartalfheim, united in a cause like they had not been since before Thor's original, thwarted coronation.

Dagger slicing, Mjölnir crushing, Thor's might and Loki's enchantments striving to right all that had gone wrong since the Bifrost had first admitted nonAsgardians for the peace treaty negotiations. Hoder's force s were now much diminished; Muspelheim and Jötunheim would be barren wastelands, devoid of all but a bit of life, if this kept up. They certainly wouldn't be able to recoup their loss of forces after this, and at least the thought of involuntary inter-realm peace was a slight comfort.

Thor's bellow of pain brought Loki back to the present movement, and he looked to see Hoder, Gungnir pressed to the thunder god's throat, a dagger sticking from a gap in the armor across his thigh. Mjölnir lay on the stone floor at the grappling pair's feet.

Thor's eyes were narrowed in pain, but they shot a sideways glance at Loki, one brow quirking almost imperceptibly. This was the time, if any.

Taking the barely-visible cue, Loki took a burst of inspiration, lunging forward for the rune-inscribed hammer for the first time since he had tried it on Midgard to no avail.

And this time, the hammer moved.

Somehow, he was finally worthy.

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A crackling of thunder boomed around the room, a small streak of lightning flashing across the chamber even as Darcy tried to regain her feet. She'd stumbled more than once in her journey around the borders of the battle, now panting heavily, drops of blood spatting from her lips with small coughs every moment or two. It seemed the far side of the banquet chamber was further away with every couple paces, though. Impossible.

Another dizzy spell hit, and through her vision, wavy like she was looking through a waterfall, she thought she saw Loki, lifting Mjölnir. "Not possible," she muttered through numb lips.

Suddenly, a cold, wet sensation roused her completely, and she looked to the side to see a large, black nose at her shoulder. Above it, really, because said nasal appendage belonged to a gigantic wolf. Had to be the size of a stegosaurus or something, and she blinked for a moment. It was staring at her, with eyes far too intelligent for a simple mindless beast, and without thinking, she reached up a wobbling, white hand. The wolf sniffed her for a split-second before licking the hand with as much daintiness in the action as a toy poodle.

"You must be the wolf from the lore I read in that book," she said unnecessarily, starting to ramble. "That kids' book that Erik got from the library in Puente Antiguo, with all the pictures…" She started to collapse again, but the wolf edged in to her side, propping her up with the support of its own shoulder.

"Whew, sorry," she said, apologetically patting the giant carnivore's side. A tensing in the wolf's side drew her attention to what she'd been looking at a moment ago, eyes widening at the sight of Loki indeed wielding Mjölnir, smashing at Hoder while Thor wrenched some wicked-looking dagger from his leg. Odd blows from the hammer were punctuated with small flashes of lightning, disorienting all of the fight forces remaining the room and stilting the battle's progress.

Loki looked far too into his Asgardian whack-a-mole, and Darcy tried a strangled yell to stop his frenzied deity-smashing, but nothing much came out. The wolf nudged her with its nose, then moved forward a pace or two, pushing her along with it. That'd work. She burrowed her hand into its thick pelt, hanging on and managing to keep moving, circling the room towards the main fight.

"Lady Darcy!" A voice called from behind her, and Darcy managed one quick glance back to see Eir had entered the room, broken chains awkwardly trailing at her wrists. The intern waved her off, steadily making her way towards Loki, whose blows Thor was now trying to restrain, biceps bulging as he tugged at Loki's grip on the legendary hammer.

A brief moment of pride at Loki's ability – permission? – to handle the honorable, mythological weapon skittered across Darcy's consciousness, which was rapidly diminishing. There was only so much a mortal frame could take of magical performance-enhancing steroid-ish presences within it, she conceded, blinking away blurriness in her vision. The magic was failing, and she regretted the loss of her glasses in the forest.

"Loki, enough!" Thor roared, settling for locking his arms around his brother's chest and bodily prying him away from swinging at Hoder's crumpled and gasping form.

The Asgardian brothers lurched off to one side, starting a scuffle of their own in Loki's frantic determination to end Hoder, and Darcy took the chance to edge up towards the only other older man in the room. Clad in rags and clutching a hand to his chest as if he was having a heart attack, Darcy distantly wished that wasn't the case, at least for the time being, Fenrir supporting her until she could fall to her knees next to Odin.

Muninn chose that moment to appear, dropping nearly soundlessly from the ceiling, partner Huginn alighting besides him on the cold floor. Odin's single bleary eye regarded her with interest.

"You are not dead as the ice witch claimed," the Allfather said simply.

"Can't trust everything you hear," Darcy said breathlessly in reply. "We have to talk, big guy. I have a message for you and something tells me we don't have a lot of time."

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Inter-realm negotiations of her own conducted, Darcy rose one last time, frowning at Thor still fighting a struggling Loki.

"Loki! Enough!" She called, wavering on her feet, and the trickster god finally looked up. Instantly he was paler than she was, and that was certainly something, she thought. Abruptly self-conscious under his gaze, she shifted dizzily on her feet, licking her dry lips. "I'm here." The statement still came out hoarsely, but Loki' limbs dropped, posture slumping in astonishment at the sight of what had to look like a Ghost of Darcys Past. Magic sparked at his fingertips, something she'd seen happen when he was confused or upset.

Just then, the room darkened ominously. This wasn't darkness caused by Mjölnir or a storm of Thor's, but something much blacker, more sinister. Visibility was lost completely, though a few flare-ups of green light towards one side told Darcy where Loki was. She edged that way, grasping in the darkness.

Finally, her wandering hand found purchase on the edge of a leather coat, just as an eerie light lit the center of the room. Loki whirled on her, dagger in hand and heading for her throat, but he stopped short, brows quirking in complete confusion as he looked at who had a hold of him. She didn't let go, instead forcing her now non-compliant hand to roam up the coat and down his sleeve, to grab his hand.

"Y-", he started, stopping, swallowing with some difficulty, it seemed. "Is this a trick?" He hissed, and Darcy shook her head, instead shakily pointing past him at the strange source of illumination in the room.

The clattering of weapons had ceased, a reverent hush falling across the room as Hela, Lady of Helheim appeared. She appeared to have dressed for the occasion of visiting Asgard, her dress more of a ballroom quality. Black velvet draped across her torso in a one-shouldered look, long sleeve cloaking one slender arm, the material settling in a pool of skirts at her feet. The bared shoulder was, coincidentally, the corpselike one, as if enunciating just who had entered the room.

Hela's hair was not in the pin-straight style it had been before, but in a flamboyant display of black ringlets, at least on her "living" side; the other's black locks were drab, plastered to her skull by the unpleasant liquids accompanying decay. The bright eye was heavily lined with kohl, ebony lashes fluttering across the crimson iris as she dismissively scanned the crowd.

Humerus bone cracking nastily, she crooked her dead arm, hand upon her hip as she returned light to the room with a wave of her perfectly-manicured other hand. A snort of derision escaped the half-ruined mouth, crimson-lipped side twisting in a bitter smile as she eyed the hall she'd once dined in, celebrated in, with the rest of Asgard.

"My, but we have redecorated, have we not," she said croakily as if to herself, pacing through the crowd with light movements that didn't betray the diminished functions of her left side. Asgardians and non-Asgardians alike hurriedly ducked out of her way, but no one made a move to leave the room Hela skirted through.

"My Lady Hela," Thor suddenly broke the silence with, sketching a bow with Mjölnir crossed diagonally across his chest. The gaping knife-wound in his thigh no longer seemed to bother him, and he was taking this appearance of the goddess of death in great stride. "We are honored with your presence."

"But are you truly, Odinson?" Hela said sharply, pivoting with the statement in a whirl of ringlets and clack of bones. "Are any of you," she said, glaring about the room, "honored to be faced with that which you never need face? Death? For it is not often I receive the gift of Asgardian souls in my realm, oh no," the goddess continued, voice now colored with dry humor. "No, none of you grow sick or old, do you? You are too good for my realm, is that it?"

Loki shifted uneasily at Darcy's side, and she sensed this little performance was not quite what he'd had in many, for surely he'd orchestrated this visit. Right?

"And so I come to you all, feeling a display of my power is necessary, to keep you in check," Hela was saying, waving her bony hand to encompass the crowd.

Loki was impressed with her spin upon their plan. The mistress of the underworld was as wily as himself, when she felt the need to be.

"Muspels, Jötuns, Asgardians, what-have-you, my realm may claim you all, if the conditions are correct. You had best not forget that, and now, I hope, you will not." As she spoke, she was striding determinedly toward Hoder, who moaned hoarsely, trying feebly to scrabble up the steps of the dais, to escape.

He only succeeded in sliding in a pool of Angrboða's blood, slipping down to rest next to the frost giantess' now-silent corpse.

"No," he moaned, holding up a bloodied hand in defense against death itself, as the ominous swishing of her skirts grew closer.

"Look closely, Asgard," Hela declared loudly. A quiet whimper sounded from behind Darcy, who edged a backward glance at the wolf Fenrir, whose ears were flattened, position now hunched against the floor.

"No, no!" Hoder was screaming, helpless in his state on the floor. "You cannot take me – I will remake Asgard! This realm will m-make a deal, Hela, I will send you troops! A platoon of Einherjar! Anything!"

"You are no longer in command," came Hela's hissed reply, moving as swiftly as a viper and grabbing a hold of Hoder's collar with her flesh hand. "A deal has already been struck with the ruling clan of this realm, and you are the bread of that deal, my dear."

She raised him from the ground by the collar with no sign of strain, bony hand slowly raising. Hoder's screams rose to a blood-curdling volume as the fingers closed across his face, forming a skeletal cage across his features. A flash of deep violet light later, and the screams cut off, the room reappearing with Hoder missing from Hela's grasp.

The deity herself gave a deep, satisfied sigh, slowly turning on the spot and nodding gravely at Loki. "And now, for the butter," she intoned, pleased with her little joke and crooking a finger at the god of mischief.

"Wait a minute," Darcy managed, throat drying with a bone-chilling fright. "What is she talking about?" The intern tugged at Loki's hand, but the trickster's whole body had tensed, eyes flicking down as if evaluating Darcy's realness. Regret seemed to cross his features, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"It had to be done," he said quietly. "For the realm. The deal was made even before I thought…before you…" He raised his other hand, quaking, to cup her cheek, rub away some of the blood smeared there. "Yours?" he asked, the phrase more of a statement than question in the stillness of the room. She nodded, feeling like it was only the two of them in the spacious chamber. "I am sorry," he murmured, removing his hand from her cheek and tugging the other from her grasp. "So sorry you…" His eyes took in her form, widening as he finally realized the extent of the wound at her side.

"Time to go, Loki, darling," Hela called, crossing her arms and tapping a foot impatiently. He didn't reply, gaze taut with tension and alarm as he met Darcy's eyes again, seeking something there. A quickly muttered spell and a hand waved across her face later, and resignation settled in his expression.

"You won't live," was all he said. "You won't live, and it is because you came here." He backed away, whirling towards Hela. "Do something. Hela, we can renegotiate. She is not at fault."

"Negotiations are closed, dear," Hela said, miming checking a wristwatch. All of a sudden, Darcy noticed something odd. Everyone else in the room had…frozen, for lack of a better word, in place. No movement, no breathing, except for her, Loki, Thor, and Hela.

A tapping noise drew her attention to the side, where Odin was standing on the spot Hoder had fallen, Gungnir firmly pressed to the stone floor.

"Now, Hela, mind the deal we made." Frigga's warm tones sounded out, echoing in the stone room. Darcy looked around, spotting a semblance of the statue she'd seen in the corridor what seemed like years ago, sweeping through the room in a pale pink gown and stopping by Odin's side. She flickered in and out of sight like a dying lightbulb, and was slightly translucent, but there was someone there.

"Mother," Thor said in a hushed, reverent tone.

"Lady Darcy beat the challenge and made it here. You must play fair." Frigga's words were chiding, her hand draping itself across Odin's forearm, who closed his eyes in what looked like pain and relief at the same time.

"I have been doling out favors like sweets, Frigga," spat Hela. "I need do nothing I do not explicitly agree to."

"What if we were to offer you something…someone, you have wanted for centuries?" Frigga's voice didn't seem suited to cajoling, but it was definitely what she was doing. There was a pause, and Hela spoke. "What have you in mind?"

"The pair of us," Odin said, finally contributing to the conversation. "It is I who have wronged you under the banner of Asgard for so long, and it is I who should be dragged to Helheim." Thor started to sputter indignantly, before the goddess interrupted.

"And the witch? We agreed you would be spared with the mortal," Hela said slowly, eyes narrowing at Frigga.

"I will not dwell where there is no hope to see Odin again, be that where it may," was the soft reply, Frigga's phantom hand tightening its grip on Odin's arm. "You may reap us without resistance, if you will let these two go."

Hela's crimson eye was suddenly alight with glee, flashing towards Loki with a grin tearing at her lips. "My, so many are so concerned for the little frost boy!" She declared, clapping her hands together with a sound that made Darcy cringe.

"In my defense, I have never wronged you that grievously, Hela," Loki said, sounding like a little boy in trouble, offering a feeble excuse. Darcy expected him to start toeing the ground.

"Well, then." The crimson eye swiveled back to encompass the Allfather and his fallen queen. "It seems Helheim will soon be quite the party for disgraced Asgardian royalty. I accept your terms, Odin Borson. You may say goodbye." She stepped back, examining her nails with sudden raptness.

"Father, Mother- you cannot do this," Thor started, stumbling over his words. Odin raised his chin, looking steadily at Thor. "My son, I only allowed you in this conversation so that we may bid each other a proper farewell. Your brother wronged me, wronged Asgard, perhaps, but has shown himself an able, devoted ruler, ready to sacrifice all for the realm. The time of this Allfather has come and gone, and I will fade into the mists of time like I have in Midgardian lore."

Darcy could feel tears pricking her eyes at what the words meant, and another dizzy spell hit shortly after. Why wasn't it over yet? She sunk to her knees, trying to breathe deeply and stay conscious. Loki had stepped up alongside Thor, facing their parents and trying to summon the silver tongue that had always known what to say before.

"Mother," he said pleadingly. "Do not do this. If Hela would have accepted another…"

"You know your father and I are best together," Frigga said. "Wisdom and knowledge. We balance each other, and I would not have him cast into that cold, dark realm with no hope of reunion if I could prevent such a fate. "

"No offense taken," muttered Hela from her spot where she was distinctly not eavesdropping.

"This way, we will be together." Frigga looked past the brothers. "Lady Darcy."

The intern shot up from her kneeling position immediately, staggering in an attempt to regain her balance. "Er, yes?" She asked clumsily. "You have much to teach, I think," Frigga said, eyes thoughtful as they rested on the young mortal woman, "though you may not believe so, and your years may belie it."

Darcy bowed her head and nodded, unsure of what else you said to a couple of deities who had just damned themselves to an eternity in hell.

"I hope this is the chance Asgard needed, to return to its former glory," Odin said with finality. "It is time for us to go." Thor took a half-step forward, uncharacteristically quiet and uncertain, a hand half-raising in supplication.

"There is one stipulation we ask," Frigga added. "Rule together, as the holly and oak kings on Midgard."

"I understood that reference!" Muttered Darcy to herself, flashing back to a religion course she'd taken that had briefly covered the concept of the two seasonal kings constantly sparring for control. She hoped the combative nature of their dual ruling didn't apply, though.

Thor, for lack of anything better to do, adjusted Mjölnir in his grip, clapping his other hand on Loki's shoulder and tightening it into a death grip, judging by the creaking of the leather. The two nodded as one, Loki raising a hand to rest on Thor's shoulder. The show of fraternal unity brought wide smiles of approval from Frigga and Odin, who both bowed their heads, backing towards where Hela reclined against a pillar.

Odin raised his staff one last time. "Take care of this. No more tossing it about, Loki."

The trickster's ears might have reddened a bit, and then Hela was whisking the duo away in another flash of violet. Gungnir clattered to the ground, and the commotion in the room resumed, everyone else blinking and disoriented.

Darcy Lewis gave a loud, wheezing exhalation suddenly, a cloud of peach mist escaping her lips to linger momentarily in the air before dissipating, the remnants of Frigga's power. The intern, now wobbling on her feet, collapsed like a stone after a few seconds.

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Loki and Lady Eir ran for Darcy at the same time, the head healer kneeling at the intern's side and starting to swipe her fingers in quick diagnostic gestures across her forehead and chest.

"Unconscious," came the soft murmur of Hel from behind them. "Not dead."

Loki ran a trembling hand down the chilled alabaster cheek, relieved to see it flushing with life as seconds passed.

The god of mischief and trickery then rose, grimacing in pain at battle wounds and strain but turning to stand tall as he faced Hela. Just as abruptly, he knelt, unbidden, at the feet of the goddess of death. A widespread gasp cut through the room at that particular display, from Loki, of all.

Through vocal chords clogged with blood, tears, or emotion – one couldn't tell – he spoke then, words aimed at Hela's feet. "This calamity is my fault. My aspirations for a unified cosmos have resulted in destruction and the deaths of many. Negotiations for peace have failed." A pale hand rose, Loki's gaze rising to meet Hela's simultaneously. "That said, as Asgard starts anew, let me extend my hand to Helheim in peace, first of all."

Volstagg's eyes might have popped out of his head, and even Sif's usually-expressionless mask shifted at the shocking display of amity.

Hela herself did not meet Loki's eyes for a moment, blood-red iris flitting around the room in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. The dead eye remained stationary, but was now leaking a scarlet substance that rolled down her decayed cheek.

Fandral grimaced in distaste, and Hogun quickly jabbed him with his mace, forcing the swashbuckler back into an expression of forced neutrality again.

A drop of red pattered softly on the flagstone beneath Loki's knee, followed by two hands gripping his proffered one. Decomposed flesh encompassing pale but healthy fingers, Hela pulled Loki to his feet. Her lengthy silence was now almost worrying, but she soon pulled her rotted fingers free to swipe at the tears of blood marring her face. She might have even sniffled, before her intact hand quickly shook Loki's. "Peace," she agreed in her chilly voice. "Helheim has no quarrel with Asgard, from this day forth." She paused to grin, which showcased the lack of lips on one side of her mouth. "That is, until you err again. When one dabbles in chaos, that day is never far off." With that, Hela was gone, dissolved into a cloud of charcoal-colored smoke that soon dissipated in a phantom breeze.

The silence was deafening for a few moments, all in the room, no matter from which realm, realizing they had just witnessed history, and the dawn of a new age in the tomes filling Eir's library. Soon, the pain of battle wounds and the need to deal with Jötun and Muspel prisoners brought the Asgardians back to the present, the typical post-battle business starting as usual.

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Hagen the frost giant king was found cowering in the wine cellar, imbibing as much as he could of the distilled substance before he was found and inevitably executed, or so he thought. Instead, the backstabbing king and his remaining forces were locked up in the dungeons, which had remained remarkably untouched during the coup, until any dignitaries remaining in power on Jötunheim could be contacted for dealing with the prisoners.

Surtur readily gave himself and his troops up, admitting they had grossly underestimated the determination of Asgard's forces. A treaty was written up and signed, and it was agreed Heimdall would supervise the delivery of the remaining Muspels back to their home realm, to await further diplomatic discussions.

Many of the Vanites were found to have been locked in their rooms during the several days'-long ordeal, inspiring many theories on how they'd been supplied with food all that time. Regardless, they too returned home, their nervous expressions giving away just how eager they were to cooperate with Asgard as the reinstated big kid on the playground.

An unpleasant meeting was scheduled with several world leaders of Midgard, in which the hopefully-smooth transition to dual-rule in Asgard would be explained, and just who was ruling. Loki was not looking forward to all the boot references that would inevitably arise in those conversations.

The wolf Fenrir, after licking a still-unconscious Darcy's face, slipped out of the palace, back into the forest, and had not been seen since. Sleipnir, the world-walking mount, had also not reappeared, although strange reports of a unicorn-like creature had come out of the woodwork in news reports across Eastern Europe in Midgard.

Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, Ian Booth, and Darcy Lewis were all named official ambassadors to Asgard, if they wanted the positions. Selvig flat-out denied his appointment, Jane insisted upon her title including some sort of scientific capacity, and Ian jumped at the chance to oggle Sif more. Darcy Lewis took her time, insisting she would let the UN know at the first inter-realm meeting, scheduled for several weeks after they returned home.

Her hesitation arose after the unexpected arrival of a new "private physician" on their doorstep, someone intended to accompany Darcy day and night to watch for any ill effects remaining from magical spiritual possession, and also advise her on the situation in Asgard. Someone who went by the title of Doctor Eir Fiolsvith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go. Thanks again! ~Bon


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final A/N: Here we are, at the end of all things.
> 
> I cannot thank enough the readers and reviewers who've followed this story to the end of the line. Ha, ha, marvel pun – I might be a little tired. But here we are at the end of all things, and I hope I've done my concept justice here. I'm participating in Nanowrimo, and as such, Uncharted Waters is now officially on an indefinite hiatus. I thought I could write some of those characters, and in my own mind I'm coming up awfully short, so there it is.
> 
> I hope some of you will continue with me on my writing journey. And now, on to Darcy's maybe-happy ending, which is fairly lengthy!
> 
> Until we meet again here! –Bon

If anyone in London thought it odd to see a twenty-something obviously-American girl wandering the shopping districts aimlessly with a raven on her shoulder, they didn't say so. The speculative glances and arched brows weren't even processed in Darcy Lewis' mind, distracted as she was.

When she couldn't even summon interest in a Topshop accessories sale – woolen hats and scarves as far as the eye could see – she knew it was time to call it a day. Stepping off a bus into the cold rain – she rarely drove anymore – had her blinking out of her reverie, and elicited a quiet caw from Muninn, who was undoubtedly freezing in the hostile Midgardian weather.

She still wasn't sure whether the bird was an emigrant from Asgard, a spy, or a gift, but she liked to think it was the former, that the bird had just liked her enough to follow her from a realm that was undoubtedly a hot mess right about now. Unraveling a length of the cozy scarf around her neck, Darcy tried to awkwardly wrap it about the bird and offer him some shelter – her own locks were secured under her favorite woolen cap, and she felt bad for the little guy. She ended up looking like a hunchback instead, but it was worth it for the bird's comfort and the resulting hilarious instagram post.

After ten minutes of trudging through ritzy streets ironically flooded with puddles due to uneven pavement – someone had their priorities straight – Jane's mom's condo was finally in sight. Muninn recognized the address now, struggling out from the scarf draped over his plumage and flapping his way up to Darcy's window. That was always how he liked to enter – what a creeper bird. Front doors just weren't good enough for some, she supposed. Struggling to extract her web of keys from the massive messenger bag slung across her chest, Darcy then squinted in the fading light, making her daily decision of which key to try in the lock first. English keys were just weird, or Jane's mom had a paranoia and wanted to deter even guests who'd been granted a key, or something, because it always took her forever to find the right one.

Finally inside, the intern-turned-almost-graduate shook herself like a dog, wrinkling her nose at the sodden material of her leather boots. At least she no longer contemplated the invention of window wipers for glasses – her eyesight had been 20/20 since her return from the golden realm, a concept her vision insurance provider was undoubtedly ecstatic at. Flinging her cap, scarf, and coat at a chair in the foyer, she grinned to see them land perfectly. The process of kicking off her boots, however, ended with one soaking through a doily on the entryway table, and another knocking over the umbrella stand to her left.

"Yikes," Darcy muttered, hurriedly corralling the runaway footwear and padding on sock-clad feet into the kitchen. She had one of the final essays of her program due tomorrow night, and the last few paragraphs would probably take a while. Coffee, therefore, was needed. After Muninn was let in, that is, as a frantic scrabbling at her window drew her attention. The raven in question flapped to his favorite perch, the corner of the largest sofa, hunkering down with a content little bird-noise.

The espresso machine had been abandoned after Asgardian diplomatic visits had broken about eight mugs in the household in one week – for some reason, their condo was now the international landing pad for anyone Asgardian to come to Midgard, and a new, stainless-steel coffee machine stood in its place. The pot was even titanium, the vendor assuring her over and over that nothing would stand between Darcy and caffeine.

A large communal dry-erase board they all used for communication was hanging on the wall next to the coffee maker, the place they would all be most likely to see it, and today it was sporting some vibrant green marker that said "Thor and I gone for groceries and lunch. Won't be back 'til late. –Jane".

It was only a bit past four in the afternoon, but who knew when that had been written. Darcy's lips twisted in dismay; no food for her unless it was micro-waved leftovers or instant noodles, then, as she still hadn't mastered the art of cooking anything beyond toasting bread or opening a pint of ice cream. The coffee machine, though, that she could do, and she quickly reached past the scrawled message, retrieving filters and her favorite brew and a large green mug with a 'D' etched on it.

The green mug made a memory twitch somewhere in the depths of her mind, but Darcy shrugged it off, switching on the maker and relishing the soothing gurgles of the brewing process. Turning to lean with her back against the marble counter, she rubbed a hand idly through her still-drying mane, eyes falling on the kitchen table. A very official-looking letter, sealed with the sigil of the UN, peaked out from beneath one of Jane's credit card bills, and Darcy stiffened at the sight, eyes flitting to the day calendar hanging next to the stove. Several X's showing passed days led up to today, and three days along the little row was…A large black circle with the words "D-day" inscribed within it.

She had three days to let them know whether or not she would accept the role of official ambassador to Asgard, as that was the date of the first international – inter-realm-ional, really – meeting between official Asgardian envoys and a conglomerate of the UN and former SHIELD personnel.

A rattling noise jarred her from her dreading, then, and Eir stepped into the room, looking remarkably at home in a burgundy cardigan over a white blouse and black slacks.

"All right, my dear?" Eir asked, laying down the briefcase she'd been carrying. Darcy still didn't know what she carried around with her – maybe she was collecting Midgardian healing remedies?

"I'm okay, thanks. Just been out shopping for a bit," Darcy replied, turning to pour the strong black brew into her mug and dilute it heavily with hazelnut creamer.

"With the guardian raven?" Eir asked from behind her, and Darcy's brows rose as she contemplated the rapidly-clouding beverage. "Yes, Muninn came, like always. I probably look like some sort of hipster Mary Poppins out there, but it's not like I can make him go away."

"He is certainly no common pigeon," Eir agreed, taking a seat at the kitchen table and accepting the mug of coffee Darcy offered her. The intern stepped back to the window, wondering for the umpteenth time what Eir's game was. Could Asgard spare their head healer for an indefinite amount of time, to wander around Midgard and pretend she was Darcy's unneeded personal physician?

"So you'll be leaving in three days?" Darcy offered casually, staring out at the overcast day and the raindrops starting to pelt more heavily against the window.

Eir shifted behind her, and Darcy caught the click of a pen being prepped for writing. "Perhaps. Now, Darcy, any strange feelings today? Any headaches, blurring vision?"

"No, and no," Darcy replied as she had every day since the day Eir appeared. The healer had said she was entrusted with the care of her patient, wherever that patient may go, and so she had followed Darcy back to Midgard, leaving her head nurse in charge in Asgard, where the ill and injured healed much more quickly.

Every day was composed of a miniature questionnaire to gauge Darcy's well-being, if there were yet any ill effects of the possession and magical poison she'd endured. But if anything, the intern felt better than she had in years – and perhaps that was what Eir mistrusted, that Hela had worked something sneaky into the magic that had revived Darcy. A sudden chill shot down her spine, and Darcy turned from the window at last. Eir functioned like a personal therapist on top of everything, and she always had the most calming answers ready for Darcy's random utterances. "I'm going to take the position, I think."

"Indeed?" Eir quirked a perfect eyebrow, pen flying across the page – sheaf of parchment, actually, which Darcy found hilarious – as she recorded Darcy's responses that had yet to change.

"Yeah. I mean, major benefits, pay raise, it's like…This is what I went to school for, you know? The timing is right, I'm at the end of my program…" Darcy started to rattle off, and before she knew it she was removing every bottle of spice from the rack on the wall, rearranging by lid color and alphabetical order. She'd developed a lot of weird, nervous habits as of late, and it was no surprise, to her; she'd had the vacation of a lifetime turned into a coup d'état of astronomical proportions before her very eyes, and almost died during it. Also had the best kiss of her existence somewhere in the midst of it all, but that wasn't something she ever spent much time considering. Heat of the moment, she was the only female thing in reach – not that she hadn't read the legends about which way Loki swung – and there was really nothing to any of it. Right?

Her suddenly-trembling hand knocked the paprika over with a clatter, the container toppling to the linoleum and bursting open in a spray of red powder that coated the ground like…Blood. A strangled yelp escaped Darcy's lips before she could muffle it, and she backed away in search of a kitchen towel to clean up the mess, but Eir was already there, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder and ushering her to sit at the kitchen table while she dealt with it herself. "It's nothing, Miss Darcy, just finish your coffee," she murmured, and suddenly Darcy's mug was on the table in front of her, refilled and steaming cheerily.

Muninn appeared then, perching on the back of a chair and cawing loudly until Eir pulled a ritz cracker out of a box on the counter and flipped it like a coin in his direction. The Asgardian symbol's snack of choice was a preservative-filled chunk of trans fat, out of everything he could develop a taste for. Darcy was a proud mother.

Eir had the spilled spice dealt with in a matter of seconds, but not before Darcy had caught side of a few scribble letters on a sheaf of her parchment: PTSD. Was that a thing in Asgard? Did Eir think she had it? Her brow cinched, lips opening on a question, Darcy lost her train of thought when Eir whisked all of her paperwork together and back into the briefcase that never left her sight.

"I'm sure it will feel great to be back in the swing of things, Darcy," Eir said by way of distraction, pointing at the intern's closed laptop sitting innocently on the far side of the table. "Don't you have your final essay to finish?"

Darcy's mouth closed on her thoughts, and she took another hearty swig of coffee before pulling the laptop towards her and flipping it open to her awaiting dissertation.

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"Yes, a guard of six should be sufficient. I'm not expecting the Republican Party of America to ambush us with machine guns, or for the Pakistani ambassador to the UN to put a pipe-bomb under our chairs,Thor," Loki said dryly into the screen of an iPad he held as he walked the halls of Asgard. Thor's term as leader of Asgard would begin after these initial conferences with Midgard, and for now, Loki was holding the fort down, as the mortals put it. In a show of modernity, he'd even conjured a permanent magical wifi field over the palace, for the convenience of the Midgardian ambassadors that would be joining them sporadically over the years to come. Hence, the iPad he was struggling to use to "head-spend", as Thor called it, with his brother.

The screen on the other end started to move erratically, and Loki frowned, before it stabilized and Jane's face appeared. "You seem to be getting the hang of face-timing," she said with a hint of approval. Loki's brow rose, but he nodded, dodging an Asgardian carpenter as he passed the former banquet hall, now undergoing heavy reconstruction and repairs. "I do what I must, I suppose, to make this work."

He wasn't just speaking of the iPad's methods of communication, and Jane knew it. She smiled, then, a conspiratorial grin as she looked over her shoulder at what must have been Thor.

"I think Darcy's going to do it," Jane whispered, turning back to him. "Eir reports no signs of harm or lingering effects of the magic, and Darce seems…aimless, lately. This will give her a sense of purpose, not to mention a bigger pay raise than I could ever manage for her."

"What makes you think I would be concerned with whether or not Miss Lewis accepts the proffered position?" Loki said, turning the corner to head towards the palace gates. His conversational partner disappeared, and Thor's large, beard-lined grin reappeared. "Oh, I know not, brother, but diplomatic business is usually best left to those who know with whom they are dealing, yes? It'd be a shame to have someone appointed who cannot take the insult "ant" with some grace."

"Must you always bring that up? I shall never outlive it, and I will live quite a while, if Midgard does not have my head first," Loki said with distaste, waving guards aside and awaiting the raising of the gate. "In any case, I must consult with Heimdall about the Bifrost opening for our little Midgardian repose. The "intimate-network" will fail soon."

"Uh, Loki, I think you mean 'internet'," came Jane's voice chiming in, and it sounded like she was trying very hard not to laugh. The mischief god grimaced, exiting the program with a nod at the pair, before waving a hand and sending the electronic device back to his quarters.

The rainbow bridge beckoned, and as Loki stepped onto the glimmering stone, a caw preceded the landing of Huginn on his shoulder. Loki was clad only in a deep green tunic and leather trousers, and winced as the bird intentionally dug his talons in for a more stable seat. "Watch that, it's a rare wool blend," Loki muttered at the bird who had apparently decided to befriend him after the realm's fate was decided. There was likely no one else to perch on, that was all it was.

Huginn cawed nastily in response, and Loki grinned, risking a finger by stroking the bird's crown quickly, Heimdall's post becoming closer with each long stride.

"How fares the cosmos, Heimdall?" Inquired Loki when he knew he was within earshot. The gate guardian rolled his eyes at the familiar tone Loki used, still not quite liking the trickster, but his reply was amiable enough. "There is quite a flurry of activity on Midgard, my Lord."

"Is that so," Loki breathed, coming astride of Heimdall's spot and perusing the canvas of light and spatters of endlessly-moving color that lay before them. He never could tell which part was which, or what the key of the color code was, but it was soothing to watch. No wonder Heimdall's vocal inflection scarcely changed.

"Yes. The Asgardian visit is highly anticipated; ironically, the Midgardians know not that the first king they shall convene with already dwells among them."

"They have not been praised historically for their awareness," Loki conceded, thinking of Midgardian views of Asgardians as gods and otherworldly beings when in reality, they were just extraterrestrial beings at best, albeit slightly magical ones.

"The meeting shall be in London, one of the focal points of Midgardian culture, I have been told," Heimdall offered. "The Bifrost will land there, as it has already forged a gateway to Lady Jane Foster's property in the past, in the same region."

Loki nodded in understanding. He was loathe to leave the Bifrost, simply because Heimdall now felt like a semblance of a friend and comrade, having dealt with much of the carnage alongside Loki himself.

"Three days is nothing to us here in Asgard," Heimdall suddenly said with a nod in Loki's direction. "You had best decide what you will wear, My Lord."

Loki smiled thinly, knowing the gatekeeper was right. "How best to make a good impression with a wardrobe full of naught but imposingly dark and regal garments," he said rhetorically, even as he waved a hand and shimmered away, leaving a disgruntled Huginn to flap his own way back to the palace.

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It was almost game day, and Darcy had absolutely nothing to wear. Screeches of dismay echoed throughout the condo from the direction of her room; she had made the call last night to accept her appointment as ambassador to Asgard, knowing full well what that position would entail, and it was already going all wrong.

"No pants," she ground out with gritted teeth, gesticulating fiercely at Muninn, who was perched on a coat rack. "I'm jinxed or something." With that, she dove back into her wardrobe, cardigans and tank tops being flung every which way.

"Darce?" Jane rapped on the doorway, poking her head into the room. "Need something to wear?"

"Yesggnnm," came the muffled reply. "Abso…thing….fits, ne….skinny!" Finally, the intern struggled out of the rubble that was the extent of her apparel collection. "I lost like twenty pounds!" She cried like it was a national tragedy. "Nothing fits right!"

Jane rolled her eyes. "I may have picked you up something for the meeting," the astrophysicist started, "but you have to wear it, okay? It took me a long time to put together." Darcy was side-eyeing Jane dirtily from the first couple words.

"You…picking out clothes for me?" Darcy said with no small amount of suspicion in her words. "Now, Jane, I know I complimented the outfit you wore for that date with Richard but I mean that could've been a spontaneous shot in the dark, and I don't think you should just assume-"

Jane's fierce glare cut Darcy off, and she heaved a sigh. "Let's see it."

As if waiting for that, Jane proffered a shiny black garment bag, entering the room to lay it on the bed and unzip it. A smaller bag was attached to the top, a clear one through which Darcy could see a gold chain and earrings. She narrowed her eyes at that, gaze moving back to the larger bag. First revealed was a smart charcoal-gray blazer with double-breasted buttons, topping a peach-colored blouse with a frilly neckline. Oh, she was a big kid now, and Darcy was actually pleased with the choices Jane had made. There was a matching pencil skirt for the blazer, and all of it looked like it would fit just right. Then came the shoes, a pair of cute pumps with a manageably-tall heel, made of…dark green velvet.

Suspicions aroused, Darcy rounded on Jane. "This is an outfit of manipulation!" She accused with a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there for weeks. "These are shoes of conspiracy!" She shrieked, enunciating her words with shakes of the offending footwear.

"Now, Darce-" Jane started, but the intern was already shoving her out the door, shoes still in one hand, slamming the door after her. Garbled screeches could still be heard through the door, exclamations of betrayal and traps echoing through the floorboards and down into Erik's study. To his credit, the aged scientist just arched his brows and slightly shook his head, not moving his gaze from the compass he was dragging across a map of a constellation.

After twenty minutes of stomping noises and the odd curse word hurled at Jane, Darcy's door was flung open, and she stepped out, clad in the chosen outfit. Jane's head poked around the corner of wall that divided the hallway and kitchen, Thor's following suit above hers.

"If I could lift Mew-mew," was all Darcy growled, folding her arms across her chest and tapping one of the pumps against the floorboards.

Eir happened to walk by, a mug of tea in her hand and a copy of the London Gazette in her other. "You look very nice, Darcy," the healer offered, marching past and into the den. Today she was wearing a pair of Darcy's pajama bottoms and what looked like one of Jane's ratty sweaters, a sure sign of the unemployed, to Darcy's eyes. The intern's puzzled gaze followed her for a moment before snapping back to Jane.

"Well, what d'you think?" She asked snarkily, spinning in place and putting her hands on her hips. "Suitable for an international meeting of esteem and prestige?"

"Did that come from the brochure?" Ian asked, walking past with his own mug of tea. Was it a circus in here or what? Darcy scoffed and glared at him, sputtering "Maybe," but he just headed for the tv room, switching on a soccer game. He was the lucky one; he'd probably thrown on an argyle sweater vest and call it good. Men.

"Darce, it looks amazing!" Jane said with approval, clapping her hands together, and Thor chimed in with agreement. The two cautiously entered the hallway, abandoning the shelter of the wall. "We did good," the petite scientist said with an elbow jab into the thunder god's ribs.

"If this meeting wasn't in twelve hours, this wouldn't even be a thing," Darcy cautioned, running a hand down her side and smoothing the material. "Also, I officially do not trust you two. I know he's gonna be there." With a huff, she turned and re-entered her room, slamming the door firmly.

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It was a sober day in Asgard, the carefully-chosen delegation of representatives meeting on the sparkling terrain of the Bifrost to go over a few last points of etiquette and such for meeting the Midgardian council. They had all been carefully dressed with earthly fashion in mind, although Fandral considered the oxford shoes he was wearing altogether dysfunctional for fighting purposes, and it had been difficult finding a dress shirt that would encompass Volstagg's girth. Hogun was plucking aimlessly at the black waistcoat he was sporting; Sif and Freja rounded out the party, along with several Einherjar in muted armor.

The two women were clad in what was more cocktail party attire than grave business meeting, but Freja had refused to change, and Sif wanted something she could conceal a weapon under. The blonde Valkyrie had on a sky-blue peplum gown with a plunging neckline, a white fur stole blanketing her tanned shoulders; blonde ringlets cascaded down her back, and her hand kept clenching, as if seeking a sheathed blade at her side. Asgard's first shieldmaiden was slightly more demure, in a crimson bell-sleeved blouse tucked into a black leather pencil skirt, ending in heeled black boots. Both had garters on, daggers sheathed onto their thighs.

If any of the Midgardian males were able to focus on the point of the meeting, Loki would be amazed, the trickster thought, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sight of the two women.

At last, Heimdall spotted the signal from Thor back on Earth, and the Bifrost sent the envoy rocketing towards a rooftop in London.

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"Noope, nope, nope," Darcy Lewis was muttering, hopping on one foot to get her other green pump on. Thor was outside gesturing at the sky in what she could only assume was the all-clear to Asgard to send in the troops, and she was so not down for committing the welcoming committee duties. It probably didn't set her off on the right foot as a diplomatic member of the UN to Asgard, but couldn't she wait to start the job? She didn't want to see Loki's smug face or the stupid horns he was undoubtedly sporting right now to assert his authority or whatever.

God, couldn't they have chosen converse sneakers for her? Darcy thought, ready to throw shoe number one out the window and scrap the process of getting the other on. With a flustered sigh, the other shoe was finally on, and she was tottering out the door, new leather messenger bag over her shoulder. Muninn cawed loudly, but she shushed him, gesturing that for once, the black bird should stay, so that maybe for once she didn't look like the crazy American on the street.

As she hit the ground level of the condo's building, a bright flash rent the sky above her, and she groaned loudly, eliciting the stares of several passerby. "What?" she snapped at them. "Haven't you ever avoided an ex?"

If he could be called that, she thought with discomfort. Why was she attaching depth where there was none? Stop it, Darcy. Focus.

Reciting the national anthem of the United States to herself over and over, starting in on the constitutional amendments when she got bored, Darcy boarded a bus, steadfastly ignoring a ruckus starting down the street in the direction she'd just come from. The Asgardians were like celebrities, naturally-photoshopped celebrities, and today was going to be a mess. There were probably paparazzi around, even. Her peasant self could only hope to get to the meeting, make a good impression, and somehow figure out a way to only perform ambassadorial duties while Thor was the one in charge on Asgard.

That part of the deal was still a little iffy; Jane had her research and projects on Earth, but as both another diplomat and Thor's honey, she was going to have to be coming and going a lot more than Darcy. If the ooey-gooey lovey glances were any indicator, that part of the situation was no big deal if it meant they could see each other. At least Asgard wouldn't have to fix up guest quarters for her.

At last, Darcy was getting off at a bus stop a block from the "fancy schmancy" district of London, as she called it, staring up at the off-white sky and praying it didn't rain. Focusing on her steps, she navigated the pavement well enough until she stood facing the massive outdoor slate of steps that led to the doors of the UN meeting center.

Glancing at her footwear and then up the seemingly-endless flight of stone stairs, Darcy might have keened aloud a little bit. Until-

"May I have the honor?" Said a smooth voice behind her, and Darcy stiffened, shoulders bracing. Her eyes inched sideways, head turning just slightly enough that she could see the arm being offered in her direction.

"I can manage, thank you," Darcy said in what she hoped was her most polite tones – creepers in London didn't often take well to being denied.

"Oh, but I must insist," said the owner of the arm, inching up further into her field of vision. All Darcy saw was a black suit, eyes inching up the arm until she spotted a green scarf that matched her shoes.

"Aw, damn," she rasped aloud, taking an unsteady step backwards. Unfortunately, that resulted in the heel of one rebellious shoe lodging in a crack in the pavement, and Darcy lurched backward with a squawk, eyes closing in prepared for hitting the cement hard.

But it didn't happen, saving arms instead wrapping around her waist and halting her fall. "No, just let me fall, ugghhhhh," Darcy said eloquently in protest, struggling in the grip of her savior and captor. She thought she'd rather accept the sidewalk burn and scrapes, at this point, though she would rue the loss of the nice black tights she'd bought.

"I think you've rather come to enough harm as the result of my appearance, Miss Lewis," said Loki, setting her upright and handing her the bag that had slipped from her shoulder. She accepted it sullenly, not meeting his eyes as she slung the strap securely across her chest. "Thanks."

She couldn't exactly say "no argument there", but she was thinking it, eyes flickering across the stone beneath their feet. As if on cue, raindrops started to fall, pattering onto the cobblestone without any attention paid to Darcy's alarmed gasp.

"No, this hair took ages to tame," she growled, hands raising helplessly to flail in the air above her mane as if they could keep the precipitation from it.

"All the more reason you get inside as quickly as possible, I would imagine," Loki said gently, moving tentatively forward and reaching for her elbow. "Now, Miss Lewis, may I escort you? Your footwear seems singularly inadequate for transporting you safely."

"Can't argue with that," Darcy said with a sigh, giving in and allowing him to cup her elbow as they started up the steps. She clopped along in silence, jaw set as she contemplated what one said to the person they'd partnered with to save a realm in space, and shared a helluva hot moment or two with.

He spoke first, in the end. "You look well."

She snorted, ladylike to the end. "Your spies probably let you know."

He cocked his head to the side, eyes on the steps that seemed to stretch on forever. "Spies?"

"Eir, and Muninn," she muttered. "They're my new roommates, probably on your orders, huh?"

"Muninn disappeared after the throne was righted," Loki said with a frown. "Only Huginn has been spotted within Asgard for some time, and even Heimdall cannot see the ravens if they so choose. As for Lady Eir, she informed me she "quit", and was leaving for a sojourn on Midgard promptly. Something about damage pay never being sufficient."

It sounded like a hilarious load of crap to Darcy, but Eir had certainly taken to earthly life very readily; in fact, if she recalled correctly, Darcy had read something about Eir periodically going walkabout just like Odin, visiting Midgard for long bouts at a time to live among humans.

Finally, the double-doors were in sight, armed guards greeting them stiffly. They were promptly led through metal detector stalls, and then patted down, something Darcy caught Loki frowning deeply at, as the guard ran his hand down her thigh very carefully. She shielded a smirk with her hair, carefully ringleted for the occasion, thanking the guard profusely when she was cleared.

That brought about the question of how the other Asgardians would deal with security; they likely came armed, and wouldn't readily give up their weapons to secure the humans peace of mind. And for those like Loki, with magic – weapons were but a finger snap away, so...

Wisely keeping her mouth shut, Darcy followed the instructions the guards had given her, heels clicking on the marble hallways as she started to navigate the fancy building. She felt like a peasant in a palace anew, but this time, she'd run the gauntlet of palace shenanigans and survived. A moment after she'd started down the corridor, Loki's long paces were catching up to her, and she suppressed a sigh.

"Don't waste much time, do you?" She muttered quietly as he came astride of her. "How do you find infantile Midgard this time around?"

He shot her a sidelong glance, inclining his head as he spoke. "I find I see Midgard through an…altered light these days. It is a more impressive realm than I have previously given credit for."

"Yeah, I suppose hot dogs, pickup trucks and iPads are pretty impressive," Darcy agreed, noting the fancy leather tablet case Loki was sporting. "What's on that – a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet for world domination?"

He reddened. "I…may have downloaded several sessions of..."

Darcy leaned closer as they walked. "Say that again? You mumbled."

"That mortal program…Scooby Doo."

A guard came running when Darcy shrieked out "Whaaat?!" but she waved him away with an apology, turning back to the god next to her. "You like a mystery cartoon of a talking dog running around with a bunch of kids? Out of allllll our mortal creations here on earth, you pick that?!" She was snorting uncontrollably, physically trying to muffle her laughter with her hands, but it wasn't happening. She might have been in minor hysterics, the combination of his presence and the absurdity of his tastes getting to her.

"Who- who's your favorite?" She managed to gasp when the laughter was abating and they started walking again.

Loki blushed again, looking away as he muttered "Velma."

Darcy's eyes narrowed at that, but she said nothing, double-checking her phone and making certain the conference room at the end of the hall was the one they were looking for.

"Not as much to talk about when we aren't dissecting plots against the throne or my terrible knack for getting into trouble, huh?" Darcy said at last, stopping with a frown when a yell sounded from downstairs. She carried on anyways. "Listen, about what you may have heard regarding me being here today…"

Loki's head cocked to the side in inquiry, silently inviting her to continue.

"I've requested my ambassadorial duties to be part-time, during Thor's reign," she started, cheeks warming at how the childish nature of her issue sounded when spoken aloud. "I didn't want…this to be awkward," she continued, waving a hand between the two of them. "Not that there is a…this," she quickly added, trying to quench the interested look in Loki's eyes. "I…Uggh, never mind. It'll all be explained."

As if to take her off the spot, a loud ruckus was now echoing up from the ground floor of the building, bellows accompanying something rattling downstairs that sounded suspiciously like a bladed weapon.

"Asgardians," Darcy tsked, and Loki moved at last, smiling as he pulled back the lapels of his dress coat to display several daggers tucked into his waistband. "Mortals."

"Knew you'd have something down your pants," was all Darcy said, before she was swinging open the door and stepping inside, leaving him with an enticing view of her from behind before the plain door closed and he was alone in the hallway.

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At last, Volstagg was persuaded to lay down his axe, the other Asgardian males also dolefully divesting themselves of their weapons before being allowed to pass into the building. Freja and Sif, however, made it past without incident, likely due to Freja's glamour abilities. The blonde Valkyrie even sent a wink in the direction of the guard who'd frisked her, eliciting a loud and dejected sigh from Fandral behind her.

"The swordsman is more a peasant than even these humans," Freja then muttered loudly to Sif, and even Hogun had to grin at Fandral's expression.

At last, everyone was gathered, Thor and Jane arriving last, red-faced and breathing hard. Darcy was tapping a pen loudly on the folder in front of her, one eyebrow raised as she leaned back in her seat, forming theories as to what important activities they'd halted in order to grace the meeting with their presence. Loki, likewise, was leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face, dark brows arched at the sight of the flustered pair.

"Elevator broke," Jane huffed. "Had to take the…stairs."

"Oh, I bet," Darcy said, nodding earnestly in wide-eyed understanding.

The Icelandic Prime Minister, of all people, took the floor then, and it was hard not to smile at earth's predictability in choosing a Norse-esque nation to welcome the Asgardians.

Jane was formally announced as the scientific liaison to Asgard, her work with the Einstein-Rosen bridges of the world making her an important figure on the subject of something the UN was calling "intergalactic immigration". Ian was then announced as more of Jane's assistant, unneeded as he was now as Darcy's intern, and he would function as the sometimes-socially-awkward scientist's public relations manager here on Earth.

Finally, it was Darcy's turn, after the Japanese had subjected them to several loud protestations of how and why three "young white people" were chosen to be diplomats to Asgard. It was then agreed that Jane would take on an international conglomerate team to train, to quiet the arguments despite the fact that no one else had really dealt with Asgard as they had.

Then her name was being called, listed as a part-time chief ambassador for the time being, but…

"Miss Lewis, given what we have learned of your contributions to the newfound stability of Asgard, and its willingness to cooperate with and help Earth, we are respectfully requesting you accept a role as full-time ambassador of Earth to Asgard. This would entail full-time residency, except for diplomatic missions and vacations…" Darcy tuned out, the American president's words turning to a dull buzz in her mind. They wanted her to what?

And then, a cold, clear voice was cutting through the human's words, somehow grounding her in the moment. "I would like it to be made clear that Asgard will not force Miss Lewis' hand," Loki said concisely. "We welcome any volunteered partnerships with our realm, but we will not have Midgard pressuring its citizens to embark on what is essentially semi-permanent emigration to a foreign realm…"

At the end of it all, Darcy thought she might have said yes to something, but her anxiety was rising by the second. After what seemed like hours, the meeting adjourned, and she quickly fled, removing her pumps outside the room and starting to run barefoot for the stairs, regardless of any stares she was receiving. She was due to leave for Asgard in three weeks and had to get her affairs in order.

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Eir knew there was something not quite right with Darcy after her experiences in Asgard, but had not pressed the issue, instead lingering around and asking after symptoms of entirely different, nonexistent problems. Darcy, too, knew something wasn't quite right; she'd seen enough war movies to know she had something like PTSD, and that the thought of returning to that realm where daggers were common as pens and large wolves roamed the countryside was downright terrifying.

That was why she had to do it, she told herself, finally reaching the ground floor of the UN building. Still in the stairwell, she replaced her pumps on her feet, straightening her shoulders and exiting like she owned the place. She had to return to Asgard, to do what she'd taken years of school to learn, to make her peace with the realm of eerily-sentient ravens and magic practitioners.

"Darcy!" A voice called from behind her, and she slowed her pace but didn't stop, now blindly walking through the business district of London. She was now accustomed to accented voices calling her, so it was no cause for alarm until Loki appeared beside her, uncharacteristically ruffled, green scarf askew and hair looking like he'd run his hands through it distractedly.

"I…I know not how to put this. Things were rushed, in Asgard…When we met, you thought I was Odin, for the Norns' sake. What I mean to say is…I would like to get to know you properly, perhaps on what is more 'your turf', as I believe mortals say?"

Darcy stared at him, taking in the wind-whipped hair, the angular cheekbones, the green eyes looking at her with…Was that hope?

"You're asking to what, court me, Shakespeare?" She finally said, rubbing her arms for warmth in the rapidly-dropping autumn air. Loki responded by removing his scarf and wrapping it around her, looping it several times.

"I'd much rather you dub me 'Beowulf'," he said ruefully after a moment. "Summons an image of chivalry and might, doesn't it?"

"Pretty words and historical work, though," she said, smiling and pointing behind him at a shop window, where a shining new copy of Romeo & Juliet was on display. Loki inclined his head in admission of defeat. "Prose and romantic fallacies it is, then."

"I accept," Darcy said after a quiet moment, linking her arm with his. "If it'll get me out of this wind any time soon."

"My chariot awaits," Loki murmured, summoning a passing cab with a gesture. Darcy gave it directions to a café she loved, deciding that packing and paperwork could wait.

When they reached their destination, Darcy's wail of disappointment could be heard down the block. "What d'you mean, you don't have 'earth money'? Are you carrying a cow in your pocket, hoping a sacrificial offering's gonna get you far down here?!"

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End credits: "Whole World is Watching" - Within Temptation feat. Dave Pirner


End file.
